This 1920 NeverLand
by A. Mused
Summary: The world has changed, the people want peace. But a feared advisor by the Devil's name is causing panic in the political sphere, and it's spreading. It's the end of the second AC century, and our heros' most personal war is just beginning. You'll love it.
1. Prelude To The End Of The World, Heero's...

This is dedicated to all the fan fiction and hentai that I have read over my year as a Gundam Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine to ridicule.  
  
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!  
  
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank you ^-^   
  
Author: A. Mused  
  
Title: This 1920 NeverLand  
  
Warnings: A little bit of beginning confusion; original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this blasphemy?); pasts of certain characters; little profanity - not to much to be a bother;  
  
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.  
  
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)  
  
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC   
  
Point of View: Heero Yuy  
  
001: One  
  
The old steamboat slid on the surface of the night river, hardly underneath the dark water itself. The little buoyancy was apparent in the frequent, extreme shifting of the vessel, rocking left to right in measures enough to make me nervous. It might just rock too far to one side and the entire little craft would capsize, throwing me and my companion into the brackish water.  
  
This made me anxious, excluding all else I was thinking. The look of the water was unnerving altogether, a deathly aura misted over it like a midnight fog.  
  
It had the feeling of the myth river Styx, descending down into a perpetual, cavernous Hell; lurching along torturously slow.  
The thick white candles were based on the dark wood railing with hardened wax, the long, dancing flames throwing glowing reflections onto the water.  
  
Beyond the river, there was nothing but ceaseless black. Nothing but the river, the boat, and the darkness beyond.  
  
It was a place you only came to in your nightmares, for it was the fear of the unknown beyond the boat that froze in your throat and crawled in your stomach.  
  
Despite all this, my companion didn't seem to mind any of it. She was too busy with her Tarot deck, shuffling cards twice as large as her doll-like hands, over and over again.  
  
And she was a child. She had a fountain of crimped, gold-spun hair pouring from the middle part in her hair falling to her lower back, skin like flesh-colored porcelain, full pink-glossed mouth, miniature nose, fine ears, and even the shape of her long-lashed bright eyes and brow was all to that of a life-size doll standing in a toy-store window. But her eyes were strangest of all. Unearthly, they appeared like two brilliant blue fires burning inside her skull, eternally and endlessly shinning out through her sockets. Dressed in a white cotton nightgown, she sat cross-legged inside a colossal royal blue blanket fringed with bright gold threads.  
  
She stopped shuffling, only to slam the deck of cards onto the dark wood floor of the boat, the sound echoing into the black. As the craft shifted to the right, the deck came undone, the cards spilling into a straight line toward the rightward motion.  
  
"Draw quickly and wisely, as there are no second chances." She instructed in one breath, not taking her eyes off the cards.  
  
As the boat plunged to the left, at a speed I was unfamiliar with, my own miniature hand shot out, drawing back with me one of the cards. With one hand, she accumulated all the cards together back into a deck, save for one, which I had selected.  
  
"What did you draw?"  
  
I flipped the card.  
  
"Fifteen. Le Diable."  
  
"Do you think it was divine, chance, or your subconscious that caused you to acquire that particular card a second time?"  
  
"None."  
  
She smiled and shut her eyes.  
  
"What then?"  
  
"I drew from the exact place twice. The second time I got the card I received the first time. You're cheating."  
  
"I'm not cheating anymore than you are," she retorted playfully.  
  
I threw the card back at her. It spun in the air before she caught it between her fore and middle fingers as if it were a knife.   
  
She reopened her eyes and placed the card back into the deck.  
  
"I think you're trying to tell me something." I accused.  
  
"Or just scare you."  
  
I sighed.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"I'll be five in April. Why do you ask?"  
  
"For a four year old, you know too much."  
  
She giggled.  
  
"I think my education is going along just as it should."  
  
"What's your name, then?"  
  
"I'll tell you mine as soon as you tell me yours."  
  
I leaned back on my elbows to stare up into the infinite black above me.  
  
"I already told you."  
  
She began shuffling the cards again.  
  
"Everyone has a name, even if you haven't found yours yet."  
  
I stared at her a moment, figuring out what she meant, then returned my stare to the midnight sky.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever find it."  
  
She stopped shuffling.  
  
"You just haven't heard your name. Once you do, then you'll know it's the name that God or fate or whoever intended for you. No one is born with their real name. They must search and find it."  
  
I looked back down at her as she stared at me.  
  
"For a four year old, you know too much." I repeated.  
  
She smiled as she stared up into the black sky, placing the deck into a fold in the blanket.  
  
"What will you call me when you see me?" she asked softly.  
  
"What should I call you?"  
  
She was completely still for a minute, just staring above us.  
  
"My father once told me that he named me after someone who truly cared for him. For no absolute reason or compensation, she loved him." she met my gaze with those strange blue eyes. "You should do the same."  
  
"Name you after someone who truly cared for me?"  
  
"Unconditionally loved you, yes."  
  
I stared up into the sky again, not thinking, just letting my small body sway with the rocking of the boat, trying to feel the water beneath the craft with my mind, just being quiet and still.  
  
"...Glory..." I whispered.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
I was quiet for another minute.  
  
"The only person who truly cared for me unconditionally. I called her Glory." I let my eyebrows pull to my lashes, "I suppose I can call you that now, too."  
  
She smiled and shut her eyes again.  
  
"Glory. I like it."  
  
"And what will you call me?"  
  
She snapped her eyes open and the pupils darted to the right as the craft  
swayed to the left.  
  
"What 's-"  
  
"Ssh." Glory put her fore-finger to her mouth and continued to stare to the  
right.  
  
I sat up and looked to that direction, but I didn't see anything but black.  
  
After relaxing her shoulders, Glory looked back to me, dropping her hand as she smiled.  
  
"Someone's calling you."  
  
I got to my feet staring down at her, a bewildered look etched across my  
face.  
  
She shook her head and smiled.  
  
"From the outside. Someone's calling you from the outside."  
  
I looked back to the right, then at Glory again.  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Good-bye, Prince," she whispered warmly in her small, childish voice, "I'll see you again, have no worry."  
  
The boat, the candles, the river, Glory, everything was flooded away by the   
enclosing black.  
  
________________________________________________________________________________  
  
"Nice weather we're having, don't you think?"  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut then opened them slowly. It was very dark, sometime after midnight. The ceiling of the colony wasn't very visible, but it was there behind the slow-traveling indigo-white clouds. The temperature was maybe in the high fifties, somewhat unusual for this colony in December. The air at least tasted cold.  
  
I was lying on my back on a stone bench with my knees over the edge, my feet flat on the ground. A blinding streetlight was staring down at me. My right hand was behind my head, my left arm across my chest and stomach. I could feel the cold stone just under my thin shirt, watching my breath come out in frozen smoke from my nostrils as I awoke from my dream.  
  
"Unusual place for a nap, isn't it?" a deep voice chuckled, "You must have been tired."  
  
I shot up to a sitting position and looked to my right, the opposite side of the bench.  
  
A young man sat there, looking at me through thick, round sunglasses. He wore a black button up-shirt with a white tie, a black formal jacket with a white gold watch-chain hung between the pockets, and black slacks. He looked about 20 or so, muscular but lithe. He had a white top-hat covering his dark-colored hair, white gloves over his hands, his dark-skinned face was pleasant, as he was smiling. In his hands was a walking cane, therefore the young man was probably blind, giving reason to his nightly shades. He was possibly coming from some party by the look of him.  
  
"You're a bit young to be out so late." He said slowly. His voice was deep, melodic. Almost sadly amused - in a very twisted way.  
  
I was confused at first, then thought again to the stranger I was dealing with.  
  
"Who are you?" I questioned him.  
  
His smile broadened, his lips pulling back over to his pearl white teeth.  
  
"Now that's a rude way to start a conversation."  
  
My eyebrows scrunched together magnetically.  
  
"But, as seeing that you just woke up, I suppose I can't very well account you for your manners. My name is of unimportance, who I am is of no consequence." He reached up and removed his hat, which followed a peculiar thing. His dark hair sprang out, some of it falling over his shades in long bangs, some sticking straight up in a row at the back of his head. He then replaced the top-hat, letting alone his fallen bangs. "And you, my friend?"  
  
I thought on what name to give the gentleman, ignoring the fact he didn't exactly give me his.  
  
"Duo Maxwell."  
  
He looked away from me toward the adjacent street.  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
I scowled toward him, as he probably knew who I was.  
  
"I think you're lying to me, but you're not exactly telling the truth, either." He returned his stare to me, "Isn't that so, Mr. Yuy?"  
  
My entire body tensed, every single muscle prepared for whatever would come next.  
  
"What do you want with me?"  
  
"I'm just a friend, Mr. Yuy, here just to give you some advice. And maybe, to   
offer some guidance."  
  
He reached into his jacket.  
  
"Now, where did I put it..."  
  
I watched him as he rummaged around in his inner jacket pocket, somewhat displeased that he couldn't find what he wanted.  
  
"Ah!"  
  
His smile returned.  
  
He pulled out a thin, white-square Polaroid.  
  
"This," he said, "might be of some help to you."   
  
Handing the photograph to me, I took it after hesitating a moment.  
  
At first, I couldn't make out what the picture was of. Something impossible to capture in a moment. It was two people standing in the same place in different positions, looking in different directions. I didn't recognize the person looking to the left, but the person looking to the right was of no mistake.  
  
"Quatre." I murmured.  
  
"Mr. Winner will be in a very vulnerable position very soon. He might make some unfavorable decisions. It'd be better for him to have someone there with a perspective outside of the complication. Someone with a clearer mind."  
  
I stopped staring at the picture and looked back up at the gentleman.  
  
A bus then pulled up to the bench, few people in the seats.  
  
"Sorry I can't stay around longer, Mr. Yuy, but I really must be going. Think on what I said, but act quickly. Time, unfortunately, is not on your side."  
  
He then stood, tipped his hat very slightly, and walked to the opened bus door all the while tapping his cane to the ground in rhythm with his stride.  
  
"Good evening." He said as the bus door shut behind him, then shot away down the street.  
  
I looked down at the picture again. He didn't say Quatre was in danger, but he'd need help with something.  
  
How would he know what was going on with Quatre? Who was he anyway? And why would he come to me to help Quatre? Was he some kind of bodyguard, or some inside man looking to clear his guilty conscience? I hadn't seen Quatre in person for the past four years.  
  
Scowling, I put the picture in the back pocket of my jeans and headed back up the block. Checking my watch, it read 2:45 AM, Sunday.  
  
I sighed as I thought of the fit Sato was going to throw when I got back.  
  
________________________________________________________________________________  
Sliding the key into the door knob, I turned the lock and the knob, stepping inside my shared apartment. The blue light from the TV on my right flickered slowly and dimly, the sound on mute. Sato was curled up in the black leather arm chair, sleeping with her lips slightly parted, breathing somewhat loudly.  
At least I wasn't going to get hell for staying out so late.  
  
Sato was in her white and pink checkered pajamas, complete with bunny slippers with the worn faux pink fur. She'd had those since she was eight. Her dark blonde hair was still in the bun she wore when she was on duty, but it was falling apart by loose strands. Her dark skin and features were contoured by the blue light and black shadows of the living room.  
  
I shut the door quietly, re-locking and bolting it. I then moved quickly past the sleeping Sato to the narrow hallway. Retrieving a flannel afghan from the nearby closet, I returned to the small living room. Unfolding it, I slowly draped it over my sleeping roommate.  
  
She stirred, but didn't wake.  
  
Picking up the remote from the glass coffee table, I turned my attention to the television.  
  
A news report, and by the look of the red scrolls at the top and bottom, urgent.  
  
A small picture in the upper left hand corner depicted a handgun, and behind it a picture of Quatre.  
  
Sitting down on the opposing black leather couch, I read the anchorman's lips for the story.  
  
"...there have been no updates on Mr. Winner's current state since his attempted assassination at 10:42 PM last night..."  
  
My eyes narrowed.  
  
That gentleman...he said I needed to help Quatre out with something, and that I didn't have much time. So while I was out, Quatre was shot?  
  
What's going on?  
  
"...for those of you just tuning in..."  
  
I leaned forward.  
  
"Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the most well-known delegates from the L4 colony and the head of Winner family's resource corporation, was almost assassinated after the lights were cut at a charity concert he was playing for. Witness' claim to have heard a single gunshot from the balcony area after the blackout, then observed Mr. Winner lying on the stage after the lights returned. When the ambulance arrived, Mr. Winner was reported to still be alive, but information has not been released since he left for the hospital-"  
  
"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?"  
  
Sato was awake.  
  
I turned toward her. Her face was red, and she looked all but happy.  
  
"Out."  
  
She lowered her head.  
  
"Out. You've been OUT? Doing WHAT?"  
  
"Walking."  
  
"AND?"  
  
"Sleeping."  
  
She rolled her head on her shoulders as her eyes went full circle, muttering an incredibly irritated 'Oh my God.'  
  
"SLEEPING? WHERE?"  
  
"A bench."  
  
She lowered her head into her hands, covering her eyes.  
  
"He has a PERFECTLY good bed in a SAFE apartment and yet he INSISTS on scaring HALF the life out of me by SLEEPING on the streets." Sato muttered.  
  
I stood up and headed toward the adjacent kitchen.  
  
"Don't worry about me." I said as I took out a glass.  
  
"How can I NOT worry about you? You're always finding some kind of trouble to get yourself into! And with your health these days, how can I not worry, Heero?" Her voice got softer as she ended her sentence.  
  
"I don't know," she started muttering again after a minute, half to me, half to herself, "I just don't want to stay up so late, waiting for you to come home, praying to God you're not dead."  
  
I turned on the faucet and started filling the glass.  
  
She gave out a loud breath and turned her head away from me.  
  
"Are you even listening?"  
  
The glass filled, I turned off the faucet, then headed for the bathroom in the hallway.  
  
"Yes." I said as I passed.  
  
"How many times have we had this conversation?" Sato's voice came from the living room, but by her tone she didn't want an answer and I didn't want to venture one.  
  
I turned to my left to the small bathroom with dark blue tiling on the ceiling and walls.   
  
Opening the mirror cabinet, I pulled out the little orange container. Undoing the child-proof lid, I swallowed two white pills and drank the entire glass of cold water, thereafter replacing everything except the glass.  
  
Going back to the kitchen, Sato was standing in the hall doorway, all 5' 1" of her, arms crossed.  
  
"When was the last time we talked about this?"  
  
"Saturday, last week."  
  
Her face tensed up.  
  
"You came home with a bullet in your shoulder. I don't want to play sick nurse to you either, Heero."  
  
Her shoulders relaxed and she uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides.  
  
"You insisted on doing it."  
  
She tensed up again.  
  
"You're missing the point!"  
  
"I know the point."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"You want me to 'get a regular job with regular hours so I'm too tired to go out at night, getting myself into all kinds of trouble,' as you put it."  
  
"Now why don't you do that?"  
  
"I can't take one presently, you know that."  
  
She rolled her eyes, knowing full well what I meant.  
  
"Then why don't you just stay home, where you're safe?"  
  
"Are you saying I can't take care of myself?"  
  
"I'M SAYING I DON'T WANT YOU COLLAPSING SOMEWHERE! CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?"  
  
I gave a long sigh out through my nose.  
  
"Sato-"  
  
"No," she stopped me, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."   
  
She pushed passed me toward her room.  
  
"Go out and do whatever the hell you want, Heero."  
  
"Sato-"  
  
"No, you can take care of yourself."  
  
She stood in the doorway of her room, the doorknob in her hand.  
  
"JUST DON'T COME BACK HERE AND BITCH AND MOAN TO ME!"  
  
And with that, she slammed the door shut.  
  
I sighed again. After another midnight argument ending with doors being slammed, nearly bringing down the complex, I heard Sato's cracked sobs coming from inside her room.  
  
As usual.  
  
Deciding it better not to go to my room, I left the glass in the sink and went and lied down on the couch.  
  
Shutting my eyes, I just hoped I wouldn't have anymore strange dreams. 


	2. Reaper Smiles Back, The Enigmatic Paris

This is dedicated to all the fan fiction and hentai that I have read over my year as a Gundam Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine to ridicule.  
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!  
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank you ^-^   
  
Author: A. Mused  
Title: This 1920 NeverLand  
Warnings: A little bit of beginning confusion; original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this blasphemy? I think not); pasts of certain characters;  
  
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.  
  
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)  
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC   
Point of View: Duo Maxwell  
  
002: Two  
  
"Whadya want, kid?"  
  
I sat down at the barstool as Jonah repeated that same line.  
  
"Anything new?"  
  
"You've been asking that question every time you've come in here and the answer hasn't changed since the first time you dropped in.  
  
I smiled as broadly as I could for Jonah's annoyance.  
  
"I know. Water, just for now."  
  
"For putting up with you, you better order more than just water, kid."  
  
I smiled again and watched Jonah go over to the refrigerator. This may be a back alley bar, but that doesn't mean it can't have any class. Jonah returned with my glass of water and then moved on to another guy sitting on the other side of the bar.  
  
It was around 10 PM, and I'd had a long day, so I decided to drop in. What I found wasn't that unusual. Even in peace, there's always crime.  
  
Two well know smugglers, let's just call them Walker and Parker, were playing a round of pool in the corner under the dim yellow light.  
  
Now, I didn't want to cause any trouble, but the two were being so obvious. Probably drunk. Yelling and arguing about shipments they'd done in the past that had made headlines, if they weren't lying. I heard about the two from keeping up with the CLE bulletins. I took a sip of my water. It was kind of warm.  
  
"Hey Jonah!"  
  
"What?" he growled as he trotted back over to me. Jonah was getting pretty, shall we say, stocky as he aged. He had a brown stained white T-shirt pressed against by his gut, his dark brown beard was in need of trimming, and his head was a lot less hairy then I remember it being. Must be hard for Jonah to get any. I decided I'd tip him tonight.   
  
"How much for those two in the corner?" I asked as I thumbed in the smuggler's direction. Jonah gave a long, old man sigh.  
  
"Duo, not tonight. It's been a long day and -"  
  
"Tell you what, Jonah," I started putting the glass of water back on the bar, "I'll donate the bounty to the bar. I don't want to see you on the street."  
  
"Well, if you'd get something besides water, I'd be a lot richer." He cracked a cynical sort of smile and stared hard at me.  
  
"Think of it as my unpaid tab. Just turn the other cheek," I stood up, "And this establishment will receive a charitable donation."  
  
I turned around as I heard Jonah mutter his 'fine.'  
  
Now the CLE, or Colonial Law Enforcement Division, had been having trouble putting all the bad guys behind bars, partially because the war was over and there were a lot of soldiers with no livelihood and little education. Crime had skyrocketed since the end of the wars and there was a big jump after Mariemaia's army had been disbanded. Thus, the reason for bounty hunters, though the CLE calls them vigilantes. You don't really need a license or anything like that, but you do usually need a weapons license because most criminals don't want to play nice and come along quietly. That license I had ever since I got into doing scrap yard work. Some people just don't take negotiations well.  
  
Anyway, being a part-time bounty hunter kept things interesting. Satisfied that "fight/get-the-bad-guy" urge.  
  
"Excuse me, gentleman." I felt like being polite tonight.  
  
"What do you want?" Parker growled at me. He was a few inches taller than me, unkempt brown facial hair, wrinkled suit, breath smelled of whiskey. Cheap whiskey. Yeah, these guys had been out of the job for a while and their bounty was just pocket change compared to some of the other heads-for-the-hunting, but the money was going to a good cause.  
  
"I haven't seen you two around here. New to the neighborhood?" Small talk was nice.  
  
"Get lost!" Walker growled at me. They must be down on their luck, too. I'm making a lot of assumptions tonight. Assumptions are fun.  
  
I felt my cheeks stretch as I smiled.  
  
"What's wrong with being friendly?"  
  
Walker looked at Parker, Parker smiled, then Walker smiled, and then both of them looked at me.  
  
"Nothing," Walker started, "Nothing at all."  
  
They put down their pool sticks and started walking up to me very slowly. They weren't so drunk that they staggered. That happy little factor was more in their favor than mine, but I'm not that picky.  
  
I smiled even broader and tilted my head down. I cracked the knuckles on both my hands one by one on the palm of my opposite hand. Shifting the weight on my feet, I got ready to go.  
  
Parker wanted to go first. He took a swing at my jaw with his left hand, missing as I shifted my weight on my back foot. I pushed forward and punched his stomach, momentarily forgetting about Walker. Walker pushed Parker away after I hit him then kicked me in my ribs, sending me flying back. I landed on a table a few feet away, my weight crushing the wooden legs under me. When I opened my eyes I was staring at a big, hairy biker guy in leather vest with a gray beard, sunglasses, and many, many tattoos. He turned his head and looked to the north of me. Gazing there myself, I noticed a spilled glass of beer I must have knocked over. I looked back at the guy and smiled.  
  
Walker had been standing with a doubled-over Parker laughing. The biker grabbed me by my black shirt and hoisted me up. He did NOT look happy.  
  
"Oops." I said with some faked meekness.  
  
He put me down and walked over to Walker (heh) and punched him in the jaw while he was still laughing.  
  
Then realizing the entire bar of about thirty guys was watching, everyone just started throwing punches after the biker hit Walker.  
  
Ducking the biker's buddy low blow, I slipped back over to Jonah.  
  
Jonah looked, for lack of a better word, pissed.  
  
He just shook his head, though. Translated: You started it, you finish it. And pay for the damages.  
  
It'd happened to another friend of his a few weeks ago at the bar.   
  
Though I'm not saying Jonah considers me a friend. I don't think I'll get off so easy.  
  
I smiled as widely and as annoyingly as I could at Jonah. He went to storage to get the peace-keeping, double barrel shotgun. And call the police. No risk in trying to get around to the phone in storage.  
  
We do love you Jonah.  
  
I slunk around the room for a while, dodging hits, sometimes not.  
  
Some guy across the room had got a hold of the steel-tipped darts. He had a crazed look in his eye.  
  
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Jonah being gone, I was left with keeping the bar fight "safe."  
  
Slinking across the room (as I am so skinny) I eventually got to the crazy. He had been throwing them at someone - who I hoped had only escaped with some light scars.  
  
I put my hands on the guy's ears, which forced him to look at me. He was blonde. Not nice blonde, straw-hick blonde. I pulled his head toward me and kneed him just under his ribs (well-remembered, Heero!). He gasped, then slumped to the floor (thank you gravity!). I picked up the darts and put them behind the bar.  
  
Traveling back over to Walker, I noticed some other blonde guy talking to him. REALLY skinny blonde guy. If at all possible, he was thinner than I was. He had nice blonde hair, chestnut roots, kind of spiky, fell down close to his eyes/temples. Back to him being skinny. He was might-slip-through-the-cracks-in-the-floor-one-day, you-might-be-able-to-see-his-heart-beating-through-his-chest, close-to-no-chance-of-any-muscular-strength, miracle-he's-standing kind of skinny. Thin gray shirt, black pants, black trench coat, aerodynamic sunglasses. Someone who'd worry about bullies.  
  
"So, anyway," I heard him saying as I drew near, "have you seen him?"  
  
"No. Now why don't you hit the road, faggot?" Walker spit at him then turned and high-fived an amused Parker.  
  
"Ok. Thanks for your help." he turned away, then turned back at them.  
  
"Oh, by the way. You two wouldn't happen to be that smuggling pair, would you?"  
  
"When we say leave, faggot, we mean, leave." Walker smiled in a way that made me all but comfortable.  
  
"Hey!" I yelled over.  
  
The skinny guy turned to me. Walker pulled back his right arm, hand tightened into a fist.  
  
"WATCH-" I started, but the skinny guy's head was already turned and he had grabbed Walker's arm. Walker looked surprised. The skinny guy picked him up over his back, then threw him into the mirror over the bar and into all the bottles and glasses with a huge crash. No one seemed to notice all the broken glass. I looked at the skinny guy, completely shocked. He seemed to be frowning, then put his hands on his hips.  
  
"That's seven years of bad luck, you know." He yelled over to Walker. Now as far as comparison goes, Walker was twice as muscular as this kid.  
  
If you asked me, I'd say we have a new Heero on our hands.  
  
"You bastard!" Parker rushed at him.  
  
The skinny pulled a shiny 9mm automatic out of a shoulder holster I must have missed and pointed it straight between Parker's eyes, ceasing all movement from Parker as he stared down the barrel.  
  
"I forgot about you." skinny-guy said with a smile. He pulled the top part of the gun back (ok, so I don't exactly remember all parts of the gun, so sue me) and put the gun right between Parker's eyebrows.  
  
"Now that we're all friends, let's try this again. I'm looking for a guy a little under your height, brown hair in a long braid, no tag, no collar, responds to the name Duo Maxwell. Stop me when I've hit something."  
  
Before I could speak up, Parker replied.  
  
"I don't have to tell you anything." He spat, standing up straight. Wrong answer.  
  
Skinny guy pulled the gun away and rested the shaft on the side of his head, still smiling.  
  
"That a fact?" He said.  
  
Skinny-guy stepped back, aimed the gun at Parker, and began to pull the trigger, then quickly changed aim to the ceiling above Parker's head. Loud gunshot. Some ceiling fragments fell on Parker's head. All other activity in the bar stopped and focused on Parker and skinny-guy.  
  
Where was Jonah and the CLE?  
  
Skinny-guy cocked the gun again and put it on Parker again.  
  
"Try your luck a second time? But you have my guarantee," he said with a cynical smile, "I don't have to miss."  
  
"If you're looking for Duo Maxwell, you're looking for me." I spoke up.  
  
Skinny guy turned to look at me, but Parker had kicked him in the back the very first chance he got. With that, the fights resumed.  
  
I ran in and elbowed Parker in his cheek, then high-kicked him in his neck, sending him sprawling.  
  
I looked down at skinny-guy. He was pouting as he sat on the ground, holding his trench coat that had a brown foot print on the back of it.  
  
"I just had this dry-cleaned, too." he said as he sighed. I saw the holster which was also occupied by the gun. Nice gun.  
  
I'm sure I sweat-dropped.  
  
I didn't have much more time to think though, as Parker was back on his feet and pissed. He jumped for me and had his arms around my neck before I could think.  
  
That little bastard.  
  
I arched my back toward Parker, then threw him in front of me, where he landed on his back. But then came Walker.  
  
Walker had some pieces of glass in him - a lot of little cuts, and some not-so-little cuts. He was very bloody.  
  
He went for me. I turned so that the pool table was behind me. Walker turned too. With my new perspective, I saw skinny-guy with a few others, including Parker, out for him. I wasn't sure if he'd need my help.  
  
Back to Walker. He threw a punch my way, which I successfully dodged.  
I then jumped up on the pool table, where I grabbed the pool stick and held it in defense.  
  
Ok, I don't really know how to use one of these things, but I'm sure I looked like I did.  
  
Walker came around to the other side of the table and I followed his movement. He tried to swipe at my legs, but I jumped back and effectively hit my head on the light above the table. I rubbed the back of my head while Walker grabbed my right leg, then pulled me onto my back.  
  
Remembering the pool stick in my hand, I took a two hand grip on it and jabbed it as hard as I could into Walker's forehead.  
  
Walker stumbled back as I scrambled off the table onto the opposite side. Regaining his balance, Walker glared at me from the other side of the table. He tried to run around to catch me on my left, but I ran to the right. The he tried to run to my right, but I ran to my left. This running continued for a few minutes until Walker jumped up on the table. I dropped the pool stick and slid under the table, finding myself standing right next to skinny-guy after I got up.  
  
Skinny-guy looked like he was having fun, to say the least. A drunk old biker was throwing punches, he was taking his fists and spinning them around to where he fell into a table and chairs when I got there.  
  
"Hi!" he said to me, a little out of breath as he dodged a punch.  
  
I didn't get to say anything back, as Walker was rushing at me with a wooden chair above his head, screaming like anything.  
  
"Excuse me!" I heard skinny-guy say as he grabbed a guy's fist, then high-kicked his stomach sending him sprawling into another guy, who was fighting someone else.  
  
Skinny-guy then grabbed my neck and pushed my head forward so I was leaning over. Walker stopped in front of me as skinny-guy pulled the chair out of Walker's hands and throwing it into the bar with a crash. He then released me and high-kicked Walker onto his back.  
  
I stood up and looked at Walker. He wasn't getting up anytime soon.  
  
"So you're Duo Maxwell, huh?" skinny-guy asked, still smiling and out of breathe.  
  
"Yeah." I said as I watched skinny guy elbow Parker under his ribs then punch his nose with the same arm. Skinny-guy's smile widened.  
  
"Great! I thought I was never gonna find you! You move around WAY too much, you know that?"  
  
"Yeah," I shouted, "but who are you?"  
  
"Oh, RIGHT!" skinny-guy responded as he rolled his eyes. "I'm Paris!"  
  
I'm sure I looked a little skeptical.  
  
Another shot went off close to the door. Movement ceased.  
  
"Everybody down! This is the police!"  
  
Well, true to their word, some officers were standing at the door, and fighting in a public place was against the law.  
  
They started coming in, and there were a lot of them. There was a lot of groans from the other guys as the officers pulled out handcuffs. Strangely, Paris looked confident.  
  
"Excuse me!" Paris called over to an officer.  
  
He didn't look happy as he approached us, but Paris looked confused.  
  
"We," Paris started as he gestured between us, " just came in here after this was started, and were pushed away from the door. I myself am a private investigator, and this is my assistant, Duo Maxwell." I nodded to the officer. "We were tipped off these two gentlemen were in here and came to collect when we got 'involved.' Since this is in your hands now, I'd like it very much if we could leave the scene."  
  
Paris looked hopeful.  
  
The officer himself looked like he liked the fact that he'd bring in Walker and Parker, but wasn't so sure about us.  
  
"Lemme see your license." the officer growled.  
  
Paris smiled and pulled out a wallet. He got out a card and handed it to the officer. The officer looked at it, then handed it back to Paris.  
  
"Ok. You can go."  
  
Paris replaced the card and wallet, then smiled.  
  
We followed the officer outside where Paris thanked him again. I saw Jonah over   
by a streetlight, looking angry. I walked over to him.  
  
"I can pay for all of this." I told him quickly. He looked at me.  
  
"How bad is it?" he asked.  
  
"Just remember, I will pay for all the damage."  
  
Jonah looked a lot older as he sighed.  
  
"How much do you think it'll be?" Paris asked me.  
  
Jonah looked at Paris and seemed surprised - probably at just how skinny Paris is.  
  
"Who's this?" Jonah asked.  
  
"I'm Paris. I got your friend here outside." he thumbed at me. "So how much do you think, Mister Maxwell?"  
  
Before I could reply, Paris pulled out a checkbook and slid behind me, placing the checkbook on my back.  
  
Paris finished writing the check, then ripped it out of the book and handed it to   
Jonah.  
  
I swear Jonah's eyes popped out of his head.  
  
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" he screamed at Paris, who then looked confused.  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied.  
  
Jonah waved the check.  
  
"You're just GIVING me a 1,000,000?"  
  
"Yeah. Why? Do you have a problem with generosity?"  
  
Jonah seemed as serious as I had ever seen him.  
  
"This is for real?"  
  
"As real as taxes and death." Paris replied with a smile.  
  
Jonah looked straight at me.  
  
"You have some very generous friends, you know that?"  
  
Then Jonah walked away. I turned to Paris.  
  
"Your place then?" he asked.  
  
"And for what reason should I take you to my home?" I asked him pretty   
sarcastically.  
  
He hit my shoulder in response.  
  
"You owe me."  
  
  
^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^  
  
  
"So why were you looking for me?" I asked Paris when we got back to my little apartment.  
  
He turned around to face me.  
  
"I take it you don't clean much." he said.  
  
I closed my eyes and tilted my chin upward.  
  
"You shouldn't be making personal remarks." I told him. I opened one eye, then both. He was looking at a picture in the kitchen.  
  
"Who's this?" he asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
I walked over and looked over his shoulder. It was a picture of Hildi and I taken 2   
years ago.  
  
"Oh, that's just my old roommate." I stated and stood back up.  
  
"Really?" he said as he straightened up and smiled, "She's cute."  
  
"Yeah, well…"  
  
"So what happened?" he asked as he sat down in one of the table chairs.  
  
"I don't know." I told him from behind the counter. He leaned on his elbows on the table.  
  
"She just packed up and left one day while I was working." I said with a shrug.  
  
"You think that's the whole story?" he asked.  
  
"She left a note."  
  
"What'd say?"  
  
"Not to come looking for her."  
  
"Let me guess, you were friends with benefits?"  
  
I threw my arms up in the air.  
  
"There you go with the personal remarks again!"  
  
He leaned back in the chair with his arms folded across his chest.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Sort of. It was a one time thing." I admitted quickly.  
  
"I bet it was more than one time."  
  
I turned away from him and crossed my arms, even though I knew it wasn't a good idea.  
  
"Believe what you want." I stated rather coldly.  
  
"I will."  
  
I heard his chair scrape on the floor.  
  
"So she's just been gone for a few years?"  
  
"Two."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"So what do you do that gets you so much money?" I asked as I turned around.  
  
"I'm a doctor."  
  
I think I nearly choked.  
  
"You're a doctor? A licensed doctor?"  
  
"Yep. Obstetrician."  
  
"Then what about your PI license?"  
  
"That's legit. I do investigation as a hobby. More of a person-finding gig, though."  
  
"So what do you want with me?"  
  
"I came to find you, of course."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"I'm working for a private client. He needs to find someone you were once close   
to."  
  
"And who would that be?" I asked as I re-crossed my arms.  
  
"A former comrade. A Gundam Pilot by the name of Heero Yuy?"  
  
I dropped my arms and jaw in shock.  
  
Who would be looking for Heero?  
  
"Who's your client?" I demanded.  
  
"So you do remember Heero."  
  
"Who's the client?"  
  
"No one you know, I can guarantee that. Very reserved person. Somewhat   
antisocial. You know the type."  
  
All too well.  
  
"Why does he want to find Heero?" I asked. Paris shook his head.  
  
"No idea. And I never said my client was male."  
  
I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Is it that girl? Relena Darlain?"  
  
He shook his head again.  
  
"I told you, you don't know them."  
  
I sighed.  
  
"So why come looking for me? I don't know where Heero is. I doubt anyone does."  
  
"Nobody does. But that's not the point."  
  
"Then what's the point?"  
  
"The point is you know what Heero Yuy looks like."  
  
"So? Lots of people know what Heero Yuy looks like."  
  
"But," Paris smiled, "you worked with him the most, and you have the clearest schedule."  
  
I blinked at Paris. How could he know all that?  
  
"So I know what he looks like. That's the only reason you need me?"  
  
"I need you to profile him."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I have a good friend on earth who can find anyone based on their description,   
habits, tendencies, etc, etc."  
  
"And you want me to come with you to earth?"  
  
"That's the small of it."  
  
"What's the big of it?"  
  
"You could help me find him, or you could stay here and not come at all. It's your choice."  
  
"And how are you getting to earth? Your private jet?"  
  
"Unless you're looking to fly your Gundam, I thought we'd take commercial."  
  
"When's the flight?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning, plane leaves at 6."  
  
My head was spinning with the ideas. A few years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to go find Heero, but now I wasn't so sure. I mean, I had my job, and the apartment, and I couldn't really just leave them both unattended.  
  
"What about my house? My job?"  
  
"Your self-employed, and I have another friend who can take care of that."  
  
"So just pack up and leave?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
I thought another moment.  
  
"Look," he started, "I may look it, but I don't have all night to sit around and bat this back and forth, so come to the L2 spaceport around 5:30 am. If you're not there, I leave without you and find someone else."  
  
I looked at him, he looked serious.  
  
"Ok." I said.  
  
Paris nodded, then smiled brightly.  
  
"Well, then, goodnight Mister Maxwell!"  
  
He walked quickly over to the door, opened the door, then waved.  
  
"Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite! Really! Those little bastard's 'll kill ya!"  
  
Then he shut the door and that was it.  
  
It was around 11 pm, and I needed sleep.  
  
I dragged myself to my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, lied down on the mattress, covered myself up with my blanket, and then closed my eyes.  
  
The phone rang.  
"Goddamnit!" I swore.  
  
I reached around for the phone until I picked up the cordless receiver. Pressing a button, I rolled on my back and brought the phone to my ear.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Quatre's been assassinated!"  
  
I sat straight up, trying to drink in the statement.  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"Quatre's been assassinated!" the voice on the other end gasped, quite out of breath.  
  
"Who is this?" I said.  
  
The other end hung up after I said that.  
  
Hanging up the phone myself, I turned it back on and tried to find out who called me.  
  
Someone called me from a payphone.  
  
But who? The voice was so familiar…female…  
  
Hildi?!  
  
No, couldn't be…but still, I wondered.  
  
After turning on the TV my suspicions were confirmed by the news report. Though he wasn't dead, someone still had tried to kill him. They said he'd been taken to the hospital in critical condition, and there was nothing left to do but wait.  
  
Turning off the television, I slammed my head down on my pillow and dropped the phone by the bedside. I pulled the covers over my head.  
  
Let me sleep. Dear God, let me sleep.  
  
Author's note: I don't really like writing notes, but hey, I got this chapter done! Hurrah! Just a little FYI, the chapters go in order of the characters by their number (1 - Heero, 2 - Duo, 3 - Trowa, 4 - Quatre, 5 - Wufei, 6 - Heero, etc) and some other characters have chapters, but that's later. Much later. This will be a long fic, but it's good, or so I'm told. Well, anyway, thanks SO MUCH for actually reading this and I hope you're enjoying it, SO - why don't you send a review my way? ^-^ 


	3. Revelations To No One, Trowa's Strange A...

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!  
  
The scene toward the end involves a song and routine trademarked by the good people who own the film "Who Framed Roger Rabbit." I neither created the song or routine and only using them in the fic to set a sort of homage. Thank you for making that movie, whoever you are. ^-^  
  
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank you ^-^   
  
Author: A. Mused  
  
Title: 'This 1920 NeverLand'  
  
Warnings: original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external;   
bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this blasphemy? I think not); pasts of certain characters;  
  
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.  
  
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)  
  
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC   
  
Point of View: Trowa Barton  
  
003: Three  
  
Dreams never die. They can't. It must, therefore be, insufferable to be a dream.  
  
But I wouldn't know. Mine are tormenting. I wish them all but happiness and quick death. That makes me sound angry. Am I?  
  
I don't remember.  
  
It wasn't a second wave of amnesia. New revelations caused my mind to spin and my then silent heart to scream. I had almost known. Now the past was forever lost like some treasure sunken to the bottom of the abusive underwater currents.  
  
Why should I care? The past didn't matter when I was a soldier, it shouldn't matter now. But does one ever shake that kind of identity? If not, is then the identity forgotten, only to be dutifully reminded by dark dreams?  
  
I've been this way so long. My thoughts have become bees swarming through my head, unable to be quieted, unable to be stopped. They bite and sting and then lie still, dragging me toward a madness I'd never known otherwise.  
  
It was as if a key inside my heart had been turned, and the Pandora's box within spilled out, fueling and poisoning my mind. I can't control what I used to.  
  
I've become helpless because of tragedy. My dreams are obedient reminders.  
  
She lies on the bed, quite still. Her eyes and lips remain open, but no movement   
passes between them.  
  
Red. It's everywhere. On the bed. On the walls and the floors. On her. Everywhere the drying red.  
  
The picture fades to black and white shadows. She's still alive. Standing her ground, waiting to die. She's not afraid of her capture's face, now twisted into Death's features. Soulless eyes. Indiscriminate of who to take, who to kill.  
  
I hate that face with every cell I command, and the one it possesses. I desire that I could too move in that place, at that time, but I'm trapped behind the mirror glass as a voiceless witness.  
  
I watch the bullets desert the gun, sprinting across air and space and time to dive in the sea of flesh and rip and sear through that which the flesh incases. Destroying the life inside.  
  
I'm the prisoner of this dream. Kept and tormented with it's visions.  
  
I'm shattered from what I used to be. Lifeless was what I was.  
  
Now I live animated, and insane.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
  
I always wake at 3:33 33 AM. The dream works that way. I always wake with the sweat on my skin and on my sheets, no matter how cold or hot it is.  
  
I always tear off the sheets and fall to the floor, resting my forehead and forearms on the cool surface. My mouth sucks in the air and dust, I cough and stumble outside my door, into the night.  
  
It'd just snowed, so it was a frigid place to be without any sun of any kind. I let gravity take my body, let it pull me to the ground. The snow melts under my warm skin,  
  
I drink the air like a dying fish. I roll on my back, and my breathing slows as I stare at the sky.  
  
Cloudless sky. Blue. All stars with a giant, round white eye. The stars that have lived in that sky before I was even a possibility of a creation. The same stars and the same moon that have stared at me throughout my life. Staring back. Being silent.  
  
"Be like us," they whispered to me in my cradle. That's all they ever said. Now they say nothing that my ears can collect.  
  
I arch my back toward my hips and roll into a sitting position with ease. I ran a hand through my short hair. I was getting cold, like the night.  
  
I walked back into the house and turned on some lights. From there, it didn't take me long to decide what to do.  
  
I walked to the bathroom, picked out a container, popped and swallowed two white pills. I pulled on a shirt, socks, and shoes. I was already wearing pajama bottoms, so no worry there. I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door while fitting it onto my torso.  
  
I was in my car and at the cemetery in minutes.  
  
I knew it was sick, but it seemed like here was the center of the world. Here was were peace really existed. The place where Catherine is buried.  
  
It happened a year ago, her death. She'd been kidnapped two years before and was now lying in the ground. I'd spent those two years looking for her while taking a leave of absence from the circus. But I'd then returned to the circus, not as a performer, but just as a roadie. That's where I've been the past year.  
  
Catherine's killer was caught after the act, tried, convicted, and suicided. But still I felt unstable. Like her ghost isn't in the ground with her body, but it isn't in the sky either. Is she then haunting me?  
  
I return to this place maybe because it's hollowed ground, and ghosts can't tread here. Meaning my ghosts are then detached from me.  
  
The marker's under a tree. An old cypress with barren branches. If I could wish the spirit anywhere it'd be sleeping in that old wood, dreaming of beautiful things.  
  
I sat on the ground before the marker. Reading her birth date, death date, name, all engraved in stone.  
  
I closed my eyes, remembering the hospital. Catherine had been sick before her kidnapping and needed blood. Specifically her type. I'd been the first to be tested.  
  
I was an exact match. It pains me to remember when the doctor told me it was so close that I took a DNA test and turned out to be her biological brother. But I never got to share that with her. She was taken from the hospital the one night I had gone back to the circus. The same night I was told before I left. Catherine had been sleeping.  
  
She was last seen dead in the hotel room where they found her body with three bullet holes.  
  
I couldn't believe I had been unable to find her.  
  
I sat there, just reliving all the memories too painful to think of anywhere else. Pain. It used to be a thing I could shut out. But now my heart had grown so full of it and other emotions that it's dammed walls burst with little hope of repair.  
  
I sat there until the sun started coming over the hills. Even then I didn't want to go back. The rational side of me knew it would be much more convenient to go back now, but the less rational side hooked it's fingers into the ground and demanded stay. This war inside of me had been playing for too long. I'd given it sway and become this unpredictable force.  
  
Controlled now, but only with foreign substance.  
  
"Are you waiting for someone?"  
  
My eyes slid open and my head turned. A figure was standing before the risen sun. A girl.  
  
She sat down beside me and stared straight at me. She had green eyes. An unmistakable glassy green color that tugged at me from some long time ago. She had child-like features and crimped light brown hair with random blonde streaks. And she had a perfect mouth. No other way to describe it. Even though she was in a dark blue winter coat and black pants, I couldn't help but think she'd dropped from some heaven.  
  
"Are you waiting for someone?" she repeated.  
  
I hadn't really realized I was staring. When I didn't reply, she went on.  
  
"You look like you're waiting for that person in the ground to push through the dirt and come up to see you. Or you're waiting to die so you could see them again."  
  
I felt myself becoming quite tired of her company.  
  
"Either way, you're waiting." she shrugged.  
  
I didn't say anything, as it was a possibility. The girl was bent on being social, so she continued with her soliloquy.  
  
"She was a relative of yours. Immediate family? She died very young. About age   
22. You don't look much older than that. Were you her brother?" she smiled. "Her twin?"  
  
I sighed through my nose.  
  
"Just her brother."  
  
"So you can speak. That's good to know."  
  
"How did you know all that?" I asked. I didn't owe her any reply, but at the moment, I'd been feeling lonely.  
  
"Gut reaction. But more of guessing if you look at it logically. How did she die?"  
  
I didn't reply for a few minutes, leading into an awkward silence.  
  
The girl squinted her eyes at the grave.  
  
"She died violently, that's why you're here. But she's been avenged, that's why   
you're not angry."  
  
She pulled her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees, tilting her chin   
toward me.  
  
"You seem to have a lot of answers for questions I never asked." I told her.  
  
"You're not the type who asks a lot of questions, but expects a lot of answers."  
  
I turned to look at her. She smiled and pulled up her head.  
  
"I'm Mecha." she told me and reached out her hand. I took it and gave one firm shake, then released.  
  
"Trowa."  
  
"No last name?"  
  
"I don't like questions, but answers."  
  
She smiled and held her head.  
  
"Serves me right for judging people so quickly."  
  
"I didn't say you were wrong."  
  
She slid her eyes up to look at me. There was definitely something familiar about them.  
  
"I'm sorry about your sister. I wish there was something I could do, could have done." Her face took on a very concerned look, like this whole graveyard was her fault.  
  
"Unless you can resurrect her, there's nothing you can do." I told her as I stood up. "What are you doing here?"  
  
I offered her my hand. She took it and stood.  
  
"I was just passing by and I saw this place. I felt compelled to come in, as we walk on the dead all the time and never appreciate what they've done for us." her face took on that look again, but then she smiled, "I suppose I felt guilty."  
  
I smiled quietly myself.  
  
"It's common here."  
  
I glanced at the sun as Mecha wrapped her arms around herself.  
  
"You should go. The living will miss you." she told me with a slight smile, then walked away.  
  
I watched her walk out of the gate and move to the left. I narrowed my eyes.  
  
"You're one to hate good-byes, aren't you?" I whispered.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"Trowa, if we're going to catch the show, we have to go NOW." Manager yelled at me from outside my door.  
  
I grabbed my jacket and opened the door. Manager stood there, looking quite flustered. He was dressed in a business suit, different from his usual Ring-Master wear.  
  
"We'll take your car." he told me. I didn't even ask for an explanation about his car. It was always breaking down somewhere for some reason.  
  
As I walked in front of him I heard the words 'punk kid' muttered behind my back.  
  
When we hit the city, Manager pulled out a flyer with directions written on the back.  
  
"Turn left here."  
  
As I spun the wheel, I felt compelled to say what had been hanging over out heads since Manager asked me to accompany him to watch a performer audition.  
  
"I'm not going back in the show." I stated firmly.  
  
"It isn't my idea. The good doctor suggested you get back into doing your act -"  
  
"You want it to be Catherine's act."  
  
"That performance was one of our best attractions."  
  
"Catherine was one of your best attractions."  
  
"WATCH OUT FOR THAT -"  
  
I swerved the car with little difficulty and pulled back into my lane as the car I almost hit blared it's horn.  
  
"This is what I'm talking about! You've got to get your mind back on what's happening now, not what happened in the past. Catherine's been dead for over a year, Trowa! You need to move on!"  
  
"And by replacing her in our act I'm supposed to move on?"  
  
"Trowa, we all suffered deeply when she died. I practically raised her. For me it was like losing a daughter."  
  
"Then we both lost a family member."  
  
"Turn right at this light. All I'm saying is that it's a good idea for you to get back into the act."  
  
I relented.  
  
"If I'm going back, I'm going back solo."  
  
A few minutes passed before Manager replied.  
  
"Alright. You can do the lion taming act. Then I'll put Jackson in with the new girl in the knife-throwing act."  
  
"Then I'm just dropping you off."  
  
"No, you're coming inside."  
  
"If I'm not performing with her, why should I see her?"  
  
"Because you're a good judge of people."  
  
Getting a compliment from Manager is quite rare, especially for me, so I reveled in the small victory while he directed me to the theater.  
  
I pulled into the parking lot near our destination, then turned off the car and got out. Manager gave me a hard look after he shut his door.  
  
"On the way back, I'm driving." he told me.  
  
I put the keys in my pocket and followed him to the theater.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
The first thing I noticed when we got to the theater is that we weren't going to the theater. Passing it by a few blocks, we stopped in front of a rather run-down looking building.  
  
"This is it." Manager stated. I said nothing.  
  
He knocked on the double doors in front, and a voice came from inside.  
  
"Go around to the alleyway door to your left."  
  
Manager said thanked him and went to the alleyway. True enough, there was a metal door on the brick wall.  
  
Manager knocked on the door and a small window slid open toward the top of the door.  
  
"You're late." the man inside the door said. "She's on in a few minutes."  
  
The window slid shut and the door opened into a dark hallway. Manager drew breath and walked inside. The man was in a pinstriped business suit with dark, gelled-back hair. He was a little shorter than I was, and watched me particularly as I walked in.   
  
A second door was opened into a nightclub.  
  
For a back alley entrance, it was pretty posh. There were red curtains with gold trim on the wall. Palm trees with stringed lights stood next to brass colored banisters trailing along the rim of the room. There was a bar to my right, and tables with white cloths draped over them that had chairs that matched the colors of the drapes organized along the three levels of the room. There were candles on the tables, but other than that, the main source of light was coming off the bar on the first level. You could tell there was a stage at the far end of the room with a curtain that matched that of the walls.  
  
Manager lead me to a table reserved right at the front of the dark stage.  
  
Taking our seats, a waiter came up to us.  
  
"Rum. No ice." Manager said.  
  
"Nothing for me." I told the man.  
  
Manager nodded his head toward me.  
  
"He'll have brandy."  
  
I looked at Manager while the waiter went off to get the drinks.  
  
"You're of legal age." he told me.  
  
"I know, but I don't think it's going to help our performer if we're both drunk."  
  
Giving off that face of he hadn't thought of that, Manager sort of slumped in his chair.  
  
"I'm paying, so I don't want to hear anymore about it." he muttered.  
  
I took the time waiting for out drinks to look around. The considerably wealthy were well represented with diamonds and fur, and the more tasteful had more original displays of trend. And the trend recently was very old, as it came from hundreds of years ago. But history does have a way of repeating itself, as it's well known.  
  
The drinks came, and Manager practically swallowed his in a single gulp.  
  
I sipped mine carefully, as I was never to fond of brandy.  
  
A voice came over a loud speaker.  
  
"Ladies and gentleman. We are proud to present, Fallen and the Crowes."  
  
There was considerable clapping, plus whistling and cheering from younger men rushing to the stage.  
  
The curtains skimmed apart, and there was a dark figure on the stage.  
  
"You had plenty 'a money, in 1922." the female sang with a lush tone.  
  
A spotlight flashed on a girl standing the stage. She had a strapless, black fitted dress with a deep slit all the way to the top of her right thigh, where a small black belt with a silver buckle circled. She had black gloves that reached a little past her elbows, black four-inch high-heels, and a black five-inch rimmed fedora that covered her long, crimped light brown hair. Her eyes were framed with long lashes and dark eye-shadow, and her lips dyed bright red.  
  
She stood with her hands on her hips as she gave off a small 'hn," letting her lip curl at one end.  
  
"You let other women make a fool of you." she sang as the music started up in the back round and the stage lights all flashed on. She turned to her right and began walking in that direction. Within two steps, she pointed out into the audience on the word 'fool,' and drew her left leg up at the same time. Then continued walking to the right.  
  
"Why don't ya do right?" She got to the stage wall and slid down on her back with her arms straight down, then slid back up. "Like some other men do?"   
  
"Get outta here - " she'd gotten up to some man standing too close to the stage and kicked his chest, forcing him back into his chair, "get me some money, too."   
  
The base plucked along with her steps toward left stage, the piano strummed along the melody, and the drums kept the rhythmic beat.  
  
"Now if you had prepared - twenty years ago." she slid her shoe up the back of her right calf on 'years,' then continued to walk toward the left of the stage, not missing a beat, "You wouldn't be a wanderin' now from - door to door."  
  
She made a full turn while keeping her shoulders pulsing with the beat, her hands back on her hips.  
  
"Why don't ya do right?" she belted as she pushed another man too close to the stage down into his chair with her hand, "like some other men do?" she sang the last verse in a softening whisper, ending in sort of a pout.  
  
She walked down some stairs on the left side of the stage and went straight for us.  
  
She got up to Manager and put her hands on his shoulders, while he didn't take his eyes off her.  
  
"Get outta here -" Her arms slid down his chest, them moved back up, "Get me some money, too." she walked away from him, letting her right hand trace his jawbone as she stepped away with the beat of the music.   
  
Then she got to me. She straddled my left leg and leaned close into my face, her arms over my shoulder.  
  
"Get outta here -" she pushed my chest and stood up, "get me some money, too." she crooned as she moved away from me.  
  
"Why don't ya do right?" she belted. He mouth was open to the point where you could see everyone of her bone-white teeth, red tongue, and throat on her last note.  
  
"Like some other men…" She was up against the stage by her back, staring me right in the eyes.  
  
"Do…" she crooned as she walked back up the right stage steps, back onstage, where she stood in the direct middle.  
  
Then drum gave off a finishing beat as the curtains flowed back together and shut, with all the lights cutting when the curtains met.  
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
"I've seen that routine before." Manager stated as soon as we we're allowed in the girl's dressing room.  
  
"I'm not very original." she told us as she turned.  
  
She was sitting at her mirror, still in costume, when her eyes wandered to me.  
  
Same green color, same familiar pull.  
  
"Hello again." she said softly.  
  
Manager glanced between us for a moment, then gave me the look of 'you two have already met?"  
  
I nodded to Manager and returned my gaze to Mecha.  
  
"Well, then, I suppose you'd like a resume?" she asked Manager.  
  
"Y-"  
  
"A demonstration would be more fitting." I quickly said, interrupting Manager.  
  
"Very well." she replied softly.  
  
She opened a drawer and pulled out a letter opener.  
  
"If you'd please stand against the door, Trowa."  
  
I moved backward, all the while keeping eye contact, until I was right up against the wood door. I crossed my arms. It'd give her a better chance of not hitting me.  
  
She realized this and looked somewhat displeased, but she drew up her arm and threw the letter opener into the air.  
  
It landed so close to my head that it touched my left ear.  
  
Manager seemed impressed.  
  
"If I could just have your resume, then, I think we've got a place for you." Manager added with a smile and shook her hand.  
  
She returned the grin, and turned to me.  
  
"Will you be in the act with me?"  
  
I shook my head then turned to Manager.  
  
"I'm just here as a judge." I added with a slight smirk that made him agitated.  
  
"I see." she didn't let on she was disappointed, but it wasn't hard to tell she was.  
  
"Fallen. That's your stage name, right?"  
  
She smiled widely.  
  
"I can't tell just anyone who I am. I might get killed."  
  
Manager rolled his eyes and looked to me as if to say 'not another one."  
  
Author's note: Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been busy. And when I wasn't busy, I was lazy. Sorry. Chapter 3 (Quatre's first bit!) coming soon! 


	4. Music Box Clandestine, Quatre's Dark Sec...

This is dedicated to all the fan fiction and hentai that I have read over my years (it's now officially sad - -;) as a Gundam   
Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine   
to ridicule.  
  
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!  
  
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank   
you ^-^   
  
Author: A. Mused  
  
Quote: "No matter how much I tell you, I'm still leaving something out."  
  
Title: This 1920 NeverLand  
  
Warnings: original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this   
blasphemy? I think not); pasts of certain characters; religious imagery - beware and don't read further if you're easily   
offended by things like stigmata or crucifixion (crucifixion's no just a religious image - it's part of history; if you want   
to argue about it, IM/E-Mail me);  
  
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily   
encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of   
genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.  
  
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)  
  
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC   
  
Point of View: Quatre Raberba Winner  
  
Author's note: I hope you people really enjoy this chapter because I had to overcome writer's block in order to finish it.   
I'd like to thank everyone who are actually reading this, you have no idea how much it means to me that I'm actually   
getting attention for my writing ("SQUEE!")! And FINALLY the plot thickens! Sorry you had to wait so long. But anyway,   
enjoy and send some feedback my way so I know I'm loved. Or not loved.  
And if you don't review me, I'll die. No, think about it. Without being noticed and remember, I just...fade...away...  
So if you're reading this, please review! I want to know if I should keep going or what!  
Come on! Satisfy my constant plead for attention! Just take two seconds to write: I like it, keep writing.  
That's all I want people!  
I'M A PERSON AND I'M LONELY AND DESPERATE AND...  
What's that? A COOKIE! SWEET!!!!  
You people out there still have to review however!  
*yum*  
  
004: Chapter 3  
  
"It's the crying. It's always the crying that wakes me. Soft and broken, like a child's.  
  
"Weeping in the dark.  
  
"Then I open my eyes to a strange sight.  
  
"A little boy and girl, drenched in shadow. Their night cloths and figures are all that give them away. They sit   
in the corner of the room, behind a window curtain. Huddled together in the dark, a girl older a few years than the   
whimpering child she holds. A little boy - two at most.  
  
"There's something else about the room we're in. It's not pitch black. There are pools of moonlight on the   
walls and the floor. The room's cool and smells of stale air and dust. A wind's blowing from the open window. When   
the drape's lifts, I see the kids.  
  
"But there's still something else. A mirror in the room. Cracked and dusty. But there's writing on it. A single   
word.  
  
" 'Milk.'  
  
"Nothing else. Just 'milk.' I don't know why. It just is.  
  
" 'What's wrong?' I eventually ask, as low and soft as I can.  
  
" 'The monster's coming,' the little boy sobs in reply. His companion grips him tighter to her.  
  
" 'What monster?' I ask him in the same tone.  
  
" 'I don't know where he came from, but he's here. He's come into the house. He's looking for us.'  
  
" 'Why's he looking for you?'  
  
"The little boy shakes his head.  
  
" 'I don't know. He's chased us all over the house. But we've been hiding in here. This room's hard to find. The   
monster doesn't know we're here. I just hope he doesn't find us.'  
  
"I look around the room. Dusty, old, unvisited for many years.  
  
I hear a sharp gasp from the boy.  
  
" 'He's coming! The monster's coming!' the little boy whispers in frightened urgency.  
  
"And that's where I hear it. Low, slow, dragging.  
  
"Footsteps. Below us. With every step, the sound becomes louder.  
  
"Moving up stairs.  
  
" 'Hide!' the little boy whispers hoarsely.  
  
"I look around. There's a drape behind me. One long enough to hide behind. I slip into it, careful to cover   
myself fully - feet and all.  
  
"Minutes pass. The little boy whimpers, quieted every now and again by the soft pleadings of his friend. The   
movement on the stairs climbs up to us. A door creaks open, and the footsteps are on the same wood floor. You can   
actually feel the ground under you quake with the weight of the steps.  
  
"There's a long, shuddering breath. It's sniffing around the room. Smelling us out. I put my hand over my mouth   
and back up against a wall as quietly as I can.  
  
"The steps are becoming louder and louder. They're coming over to me. I hear the breath and feel the great   
warmth of it's body. I see it's clawed hand as it reaches around the curtain."  
  
"And that's where you wake up?"  
  
"Yeah," I replied. "I never get to see the monster."  
  
"Interesting dream, Quatre." Nadia told me with a quick nod. Nadia Winner - reknowned psychologist and my   
older sister.  
  
"Has the word 'milk' ever had any significance before you had this dream?" she asks.  
  
"Not really. But see, that's what puzzles me. I just can't figure it out. No matter how the dream changes, 'milk'   
is always on the mirror."  
  
"The dream changes?"  
  
"It's a recurring dream. Didn't I tell you that?"  
  
She gave a short laugh.  
  
"You've had a lot on your mind."  
  
I threw out a smile for show.  
  
"I suppose I have."  
  
The dream came about two weeks before someone took a chance at ending my life.  
  
I'd been asked to play a charity concert for the theater about 50 minutes from my house. Deciding to play a   
short piece I'd constructed myself I'd titled "Unfinished," I'd received a standing ovation. But that was before someone   
cut the lights and attempted to end my life my putting another hole in my heart.  
  
Though the experience was excruciatingly painful, the surgeons removed most of the bullet. They did,   
however, leave a fragment too small to do away with.  
  
Metal dectectors should be a barrel of laughs now.  
  
I couldn't help being depressed. That's what an attempt on your life does to you. I just can't figure out why   
anyone had it in their heart to kill me. I hadn't made any political decisions in about two weeks - I'd been vacationing   
at home. Just taking some time off my hectic life.  
  
And just when I though peace had settled in the world, that all too familiar sound of a gun firing at me   
returned and brought back memories from the war.  
  
I've been a war veteran since age 15. What else is to be expected?  
  
So I've been hanging around the house, mostly in my room, on doctor's orders. They want me to rest up so I   
can heal.  
  
Physically, I'm fine. It's my heart I'm worried about.  
  
Nadia's been toying with my mind for the past few days, making me talk and discuss my thoughts and   
emotions about anything that came up. That's how we got to talking about the dream.  
  
"How long have you had this dream?" she asked.  
  
"Two weeks, maybe longer. I never really thought too much about it the first time I had it."  
  
That's another thing. I dream almost every night, and a lot of the time, I get nightmares. So it's never really   
that unusual that I get one about monster's chasing me. This one just seemed so strange because of 'milk' and the fact   
that I hadn't had any other dreams since I had this one.  
  
It's almost like it's conquered my sleeping mind.  
  
Honestly, I think it's a little too strange.  
  
After explaining my nightmare trouble to Nadia, she turned it back on the actual dream. Did the monster   
mean anything? Did I think it was a metaphor for my uncaught assassin? Did I think it was this, did I think it was that.  
  
After a few more minutes of batting these questions back and forth - with inconclusive answers on my part -   
Nadia decided tea was over and she should go talk to her husband about staying another week.  
  
Some of my sister's and all of the Magnacs came up for my recital. It'd be the first one I'd had since I'd taken   
on my father's job.  
  
I don't think I'll be playing publicly for a while.  
  
Just before my sister left, she threw out one more question.  
  
"Did you ever get father's birthday present?" she asked in a quiet tone.  
  
"What?"  
  
She turned in the doorway and leaned on the frame.  
  
"Just before he died, father asked my opinion on a birthday gift he was getting for you. He'd already bought it   
when he showed it to me, and I just wondered if you ever got it."  
  
"No." I said quietly, quite bewildered.  
  
She looked toward the ceiling.  
  
"It might be in his room." she replied, thinking more to herself than talking to me. "I'll go up and check later.   
Get some sleep, Quatre. I'll see you at dinner."  
  
With that final statement, she shut the door. As I heard her footsteps echo down the hallway, the thought   
resurfaced in my mind.  
  
I'd left my father behind when I went to fight on Earth as a Gundam pilot. Since it was my birthday in June, I   
celebrated by myself that year.  
  
I didn't know that he bought me anything, he was so angry that I left.  
  
Being cooped up in the same room for three days was making me restless, so I decided to disobey my doctor   
and take a stroll around the house.  
  
Walking around without any sense of direction, I just started remembering various scenes of my childhood.   
  
One night, being woken by some nightmare, I went wandering about the house, and I looked out this huge   
window on the third floor that faced the back of the house, the gardens and whatnot. It's not as big as I remember it   
being (but doesn't everything seem to get smaller as you age?) but I do remember seeing something move outside the   
window.  
  
At first it was just looking back up at me, and I was still debating whether or not it was there. It just had to be   
a person. I could tell by the silhouette. Then it just turned and walked deeper into the garden.  
  
I screamed like a banshee and ran to my father's room only a few doors away. Being six or seven at the time,   
I remember being convinced it was a vampire or a ghost or an alien come to steal me away from my family.  
  
I slept with my father that night, after he calmed me down and convinced me that there was no one in the   
gardens. He even got one of out night guards to check while I held on to him for dear life and sobbed until my eyes,   
cheeks, and throat killed.  
  
After the guard found nothing (and a bit of arguing between my father and I on the existence of monsters), I   
managed to calm down to the point where I just dropped off into his arms.  
  
I don't remember ever sleeping as well as I did that night.  
  
Back in the future, I found myself staring out this window.  
  
And then it hit me. My father's room wasn't that far away.  
  
Even though it had been five years since his death, I still couldn't bring myself to go into his room. I did, once,   
and all I felt like was that he would just come strolling in at any moment. It hadn't changed since the day he died.  
  
But then, the idea of the present intrigued me. I wanted to know what he left behind for me. Maybe it was   
some heirloom - something passed down from his father to him and now to me.  
  
I couldn't fight my curiosity. I walked down the hallway and stood in front of the French doors that led to his   
room.  
  
I don't know how long I stood there. I just stood staring at the doors, fighting myself on whether or not to go   
in. Could I handle it again? Could I handle the truth?   
  
Could I handle the fact that he just wasn't coming back?  
  
I had to make a decision pretty quick after I heard Rashid's familiar voice:  
  
"Master Quatre?"  
  
Oh, no. They've found out I'm not in my room.  
  
Deciding I hadn't had any kind of adventure for too long a time, I opened the right door and slipped silently   
into the darkness of my father's room, sliding the door shut with quick and untraceable ease.  
  
The adrenaline quickly wore off as the eternal somberness of the room fell over and surrounded me in an   
inescapable iron curtain.  
  
Like I mentioned before, the room had been much as it was the last time he left it. The bed's made up, the   
curtain's are drawn, everything's in it's place. It's all very sanitized, dark, and numb. It's supposed to be like he was never   
here.  
  
Problem was, he was.  
  
I just can't shake the pain that'd swelled in my heart. I felt the tears spreading in my burning eyes. Memories   
come back of that night when I saw the shadow. How he calmed me and told me about there not being any such   
thing as a monster.  
  
But there always had been. Right inside every human heart, one sat and waited for our weakest moments to   
prevail so it could then seize control.  
  
Monster's are just hiding behind human faces. Monster's killed my sister and father.  
  
I slid down the back of the door and just let the tears drip out of my eyes and off my chin, my chest quaking   
with each shuddering breath.  
  
Even though I wanted companionship, I still tried hard to contain some control so I wouldn't be heard.   
Especially when I heard Rashid's footsteps stop at the door, deciding whether or not to come in, I held my breath, tears   
still falling off my chin.  
  
When he finally concluded I wouldn't go into my father's room again, I heard his footsteps traveling down the   
hallway.  
  
Letting out the breath I'd been holding, a choked sob tumbled out of my throat as I pulled my knees to my   
chest, wrapping my arms around my calves and resting my forehead on my knees.  
  
I must have stayed in that position for about 10 minutes, just until my eyes dried up and I felt better.  
  
I've always compared crying to throwing up: after you're done, you always feel better.  
  
I wiped my eyes one the black wool sleeve of my turtleneck, trying to dry them with the fabric. After I stood   
up, i just felt numb. Like none of it had ever mattered.   
  
Apathy was giving me resolve, and I didn't dare argue.  
  
I decided I should just look around for my gift.  
  
The first place I decided to look was the closet. I mean, your parents always hide presents there, right?  
  
As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was wrong with this part of the room. I'd never really been in   
my father's entire room before, and I'd never been allowed in the closet, or the private bathroom while we're talking   
about it. But among the hung clothing, racks of shoes, and assorted plastic boxes, something just didn't fit. I wasn't sure   
just what it was, but something was definitely amiss in this room.  
  
I didn't touch the racks of clothing, or anything else. They just hung there whispering blasphemy if my hands   
even came close. So, I didn't touch anything.  
  
But, strangely enough, the back wall was completely bare. There wasn't a thing on it. Just a narrow,   
wall-papered space.  
  
But something too was strange about that wall. In a narrow section about a foot from the end of the wall, it   
looked like the pattern was just off. Like the people who put it up did a frame first, then finished it out by putting a   
rectangular box in the center, meeting the floor. It almost looked like...  
  
It almost looked like there was a door in the back wall of the closet.  
  
My adventurous nature returned, and suddenly that wall became absolutely fascinating. The room seemed   
hushed by my approach to it.  
  
It must have been some kind of secret door, leading to a labyrinth that stretched all over the house! The only   
problem was, that it wasn't very well hidden, so anyone upon entrance to the closet would know something was up.  
  
Wait.  
  
Secret doors? Secret rooms?  
  
Sounded a lot like my dream.  
  
But that made my interest only climb higher. My dream was leading me to this place.  
  
But why?  
  
Shoving the questions out of my mind, I returned all of my attention to that secret door in the wall and all it's   
possibilities.  
  
I first put my hands, palms down, flat on the wall. I was hoping that if I pushed one side enough, the other   
would give and the door would swing open. So I applied pressure to my right hand first, hoping against hope that the   
door would open.  
  
Nothing.  
  
So then I applied pressure to my left hand, propelling all my weight against the wall.  
  
Again, nothing.  
  
Ok, so maybe it was controlled by some lever.  
  
But I didn't want to touch anything in the room.  
  
This was truly puzzling.  
  
"Stupid door," I muttered to myself as I leaned my back against the wall, crossing my arms.  
  
Suddenly, the wall slipped from under my weight and I fell backwards.  
  
The first thing I hit was sharp and not at all even. I turned to see a really old flight of wooden stairs.  
  
The monster had sounded like it was coming up stairs!  
  
But wait a minute. The monster! Was the monster supposed to be a warning that I shouldn't come up here?  
Was I going to find the bodies of two little children cuddled up next to a window?  
  
Wait a minute. A window? If there really was a window up there, wouldn't I have noticed from outside?  
  
Weird.  
  
Spurred on by all the questions about the dream and it's relevance to the secret room I'd just found, I slid the   
door back into place (as all I had to do was lean my weight against it to open it), then I started up the stairs.  
  
First off, the stairs were really, really dusty. When I stepped on them, the thick coat of dust made an imprint of   
my shoe. Secondly, there had to be a window up pretty high because I could see the stairs and it was pretty late in the   
afternoon.  
  
I was definitely inside an area of the house that wasn't meant for entertaining. You could see the insulation   
and wood beams of the house. There was dust and spider webs everywhere.  
  
I must have walked up that stairwell for a good five minutes before I found anything. The stairs twisted and   
curved in a few places, leading my to believe that I was headed up toward the attic. Also, I tried to be quiet so that   
no one would hear me and want to investigate the noise. I mean, there could be more than one of these passages,   
and someone might even know about this one and they might head up it and see who's on it and find me and then I'll   
be in trouble for leaving my room (not that I wasn't) and I'll get an earful from my sisters and...  
  
Leaving off all the 'ands,' I just kept going up the steps until I found where they left off.  
  
It was a really small bedroom. There was an old bed with an iron frame and dusty white sheets and pillows   
over on the other side of the room. There was a huge window with long, sweeping curtains on my left side with a   
cushion underneath the glass where you could sit and look out. The glass on the window was really grimy, so you   
naturally couldn't see anything through the panes. To my right was an old wooden dresser with an assortment of dusty   
bottles with cobwebs and jewelry boxes on top of it. There were wooden boards for a floor and the ceiling was slanted   
toward the window, so I was definitely up toward the roof of the house. There was a humidity in the room that was   
dizzying from it being so warm and dusty, so it was rather difficult to breathe.  
  
No one must have been in here for a really long time. Maybe even longer than after my father died. I wonder   
if he ever knew about the room.  
  
Then an old memory came back to me. An old story my nurse Gretta told me when I was 12. One about my   
father's sister.  
  
Apparently, a long, long time ago when my father was young, he had a sister named Umayma. She was   
eleven years older than him. My great uncle was supposedly a drug dealer and the black sheep of the family. He was   
murdered by an old partner in a drive-by, which Umayma accidentally witnessed on her way to get him. The mere   
memory of that was enough to drive the fragile girl insane. Since my grandfather was too proud to see his only   
daughter be locked away in an institution, he had a room built inside the house where she could live in secluded   
peace. But one day, Umayma said she saw an angel beckoning for her to fly with him, and in attempt to join the angel, she fell to her death from a room high up in the house.  
  
Could this be Umayma's bedroom? It looked like it was made for only one person.  
  
That humid mist that had been choking me ever since I started my ascent. The air seemed to get thicker the   
higher I got. And with the wound in my chest, I couldn't take very deep breaths without risking a great deal of pain.  
  
I started to feel light-headed and faint as the room slowly began to blur.  
  
The last thing I remember is grabbing a cloth on the dresser as I feel to the floor, taking whatever was on the   
cloth down with me.  
  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
I woke in the same place, but I wasn't alone.  
  
A woman and a man were sitting on the cushion under the window, while a second man seemed to be   
pacing around the room in great agitation. The room seemed newer, not so dusty and old.  
  
That description alone took me a few minutes to realize, because the way I was seeing everything was like a   
picture being blurred by water: it was unfocused.  
  
They seemed to be arguing as well - but to me all sound was muted for some reason. The woman rarely said   
anything, but the man pacing on the floor seemed to be spitting venom at the other man, who appeared perfectly   
calm, replying with a straight face.  
  
I caught slivers of the conversation here and there.  
  
"...you know you're being selfish and stupid, so I don't see why you're being so stubborn."  
  
"I'd rather die than give...Aaren..."  
  
"Honestly, you act like...done you the greater harm."  
  
"HE HAS!"  
  
The last bit of the conversation was screamed, and blasted into my ears like the whistle of a steam engine. At   
the same time, the pacing man kicked over the dresser, making the woman jump slightly. The man sitting next to her   
remained perfectly still. The angry man sat on the floor, next to the toppled dresser, his legs curled up against his chest.  
  
"...You know what's best. Think of..."  
  
"I hate this. I fucking hate this."  
  
At this point the man on the seat stood and hit the other man so hard he fell over. The fallen man looked up   
at his assailant, shocked.  
  
The man that hit him said something I didn't quite catch.  
  
"Please..." I heard the woman say. The first time she spoke, the picture seemed to clear. She was really pretty.   
She had long blonde hair and a flowing white dress.  
  
After her mouth stopped moving, the picture went back to being blurry.  
  
There was a long pause that must have lasted, god, twenty minutes. I'm not kidding. One man was standing,   
the other was still sprawled on the floor. The woman just sat, her head tilted toward the floor.  
  
And then, finally:  
  
"All right."  
  
The tension seemed to be smashed out of the room like his short sentence was in itself a hammer. The woman   
let out a deep breath, while the man who remained standing didn't really change at all.  
  
"Thank you." I heard one of them say, most likely the woman, just before everything faded to an impenetrable   
darkness.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
When I woke up, I was lying on my arm, so that remained sore for pretty much the rest of the day.  
  
I only seemed to be out for a few minutes, maybe an hour at most. The light coming through the window   
was more slanted, but I'd left relatively late in the afternoon anyway.  
  
I shook my head first, because my mind was a little muddled. It was then that I started to make some of the   
connections.  
  
The room in my dream and the room I was in were exactly the same, except for the dresser being upright and   
time getting to the room I was in.  
  
It was almost like the room was conveying one of it's memories to me.  
  
Deciding to investigate, I made my way quietly over to the dresser.  
  
Looking at the contents on top of it, I saw much of what I saw before: Bottles and boxes.  
  
But there was something interesting on that dresser as well. A small clock in the very middle, covered in dust   
and cobwebs, and surprisingly still ticking.  
  
I leaned in to look at the clock face and read that it was almost seven.  
  
Oh, no!  
  
I remember I agreed to meet a detective just now, and here I was, investigating secret rooms and covered in   
dust.  
  
In my rush, I accidentally hit the dresser. Spinning around to see if there was any damage being done, I   
watched as the piece of furniture wobbled and a small wooden box fell off and smashed onto the floor, opening the   
lid.  
  
Deciding I'd come back later tonight, I left the box and hurried as quietly as I could back to the entrance.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
I got a lucky break. Nobody saw me sneak back to my room, so I didn't get in any trouble. I brushed out my   
hair, washed my face and hands, and then changed my shirt and pants, being wary of my injury.  
  
In fact, I actually stopped to look at it in the mirror.  
  
The white bandage was secured over my heart with medical tape. It just felt so surreal looking at it.  
  
My entire life could have ended in that one second. It scared me.  
  
I heard the door open as I just finished pulling my shirt over my head.  
  
It was Nadia.  
  
"Quatre!" she yelled as she entered the room, "Where have you been?"  
  
"Out walking around."  
  
Another stroke of luck: I'd already placed my dirty cloths in the hamper.  
  
"You know you shouldn't!" she replied, quite exasperated. "But I'll save my rantings for later. Detective Kelley is   
in the study on the first floor."  
  
"I'm coming," I told her as I laced up my shoes.  
  
Down in the study, an older looking man stood and smiled at me upon my entrance.  
  
"Mister Winner, you're looking well. How're you healing up?"  
  
"Better than the doctor's expected," I told him as I shook his hand.  
  
"I'm Detective Andrew Kelley, by the way," he said. He had light brown hair that was thinning back and   
friendly, dark brown eyes.  
  
"It's nice to meet you," I motioned for him to have a seat in an armchair across from mine, a coffee table   
separating us.  
  
"So shall we get right to it then?" he asked.  
  
I nodded quickly.  
  
"First of all, did you notice anything strange? See anyone in that balcony?"  
  
"No, I can't say I did. A CLE investigator told me that balcony had been reserved for the woman who put   
together the concert."  
  
"That's right. No one we asked said they saw anyone up there, and security didn't see anyone acting   
suspicious or anyone even near the entrance. It was really odd."  
  
He picked up an old leather briefcase from the floor and picked out a manila folder.  
  
"At first we thought it was two people, but then we found a mechanism attached to the main power switch   
that could have been controlled by a remote, so it could have been one person after all. It's just so odd that no one   
was seen, but the shot was heard - it just doesn't seem to fit in this day and age. It almost seems like it was a ghost!"  
  
I chuckled.  
  
"Mr. Winner, do you have any enemies who might do this that you know of?"  
  
"I've been vacationing for some times, so I haven't really done anything too political, but I suppose there's   
always the possibility that there someone. But I don't think I know of anyone who would want to kill me right now."  
  
"It seems terroristic, but there's no trace. So it might have been an assassin working for someone else."  
  
My thoughts then turned to Heero. He or Trowa could have pulled off a job like that, but why...  
  
Shaking the dark thoughts of my comrades trying to murder me, I returned my attention to the detective.  
  
He was suddenly quiet, busy studying the folder he held. Then he looked back up at me.  
  
"Did you here anything about the big fire in France a while ago?"  
  
"No, not really."  
  
"Every government department was under strict orders not to discuss any detail of that fire, but I've been   
given permission by the Earth Sphere United Nation to let you in on what's going on.  
  
"Have you ever heard of an organization called the Baccalights [1]?"  
  
"Can't say that I have."  
  
"There a cult that started up in Russia, about sixteen years ago. Begun by a man named Akuma Jalh. Ever   
heard of him?"  
  
I shook my head. He looked even more tired and old.  
  
"Akuma Jalh is the king of Aasyl."  
  
"Oh! And Csi Jalh's the queen."  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Right. Akuma gave up his throne to his wife shortly after he was coroneted - two or three years after, I think. I   
don't know why he did it - Aasyl's the richest kingdom in the entire Earth Sphere.  
  
"Anyway, he committed himself to an asylum up in Russia a few months after his daughter died in a car   
accident - about 16 years ago. There, he was diagnosed as having a split personality disorder, as well as some other, er,   
problems. On one side, he was completely rational, charming - a real nice guy to have around if you're looking for   
something to do. Quite a gentleman, I've heard. On the other side, completely unpredictable. He's been known to kill   
men, women, -"  
  
The detective took a deep breath.  
  
"- children, infants in all sorts of torturous manners. Most are found crucified to trees. The government's been   
keeping it quiet for a long time because they never knew who was responsible, and they could never catch him. Then   
Akuma committed himself, and in doing so, incriminated himself. He had a manuscript which he called "The Little Black   
Book." It was full of information on every single person he killed, from the very first, to the very last. It turns out, he'd go   
to confession every time he murdered someone, and a priest began this book to relieve himself of some of the guilt. The   
priest suicided some years after. Akuma obtained the book and continued to write in it. The doctor's at the asylum   
looked through the book, but were unable to study it extensively as Akuma took it with him when he escaped the   
asylum after staying only a week."  
  
He paused to let me digest all this information, which I was having some difficulty in doing.  
  
"Anyway, that's the longest Akuma's ever been in captivity - one week. Now you know why the government's   
been wary of releasing information about all of this: they're afraid it will cause a huge panic.  
  
"But that's not the worst part. The cult I was talking about before, the Baccalights? Akuma started that soon   
after he escaped from the hospital. He made people this promise: he'd give them whatever it was in his power to give   
as long as they were completely loyal to him."  
  
I know my face was completely unreadable.  
  
"He was building an army..."  
  
"Something like that. All they had to do was pledge their undying loyalty and receive a mark on their right   
arm. The number 969 was first burned than tattooed into their skin with an indestructible ink, so that they would never   
be able to escape him. It didn't take long for people to get up and follow him. It's estimated over 50,000 people are a   
part of this cult secretly. Another 75,000 are out in the open. That's 125,000 people who are under Akuma's ultimate rule.   
Not to mention that he keeps people on his toes by proving his power over them. It's known that during the   
get-together's the cult's secret member's have with Akuma, Akuma selects one person who's done him wrong and cuts   
a mark into his or her forehead. He says a word to his crowd of followers and they literally tear the traitor limb from limb   
in a chaotic frenzy. I actually have a picture here of a girl who was...marked. If you think you'd like to see it..."  
  
I nodded slowly.  
  
He opened a manila folder and looked a little surprised.  
  
"I have a picture here of Akuma taken in the Russian institution 16 years ago." he said to me as he handed me   
said photo.  
  
It was a black and white, with a man sitting on a hospital-looking bed in a white shirts and pants with a   
barred window above his head, sunlight streaming in. He had dark colored hair and a muscularly proportioned body.   
He was throwing a ball up into the air, as the ball was directly in front of the window, the sunlight streaming all around   
it, Akuma's arm up in the air.  
  
I nodded, then handed the picture back to him.  
  
"You sure you want to see this?" he asked again, looking straight into my eyes. I'd absorbed a lot during out   
chat, and didn't know if I could indeed handle more. But let's just call it morbid curiosity that spurred me on.  
  
The picture was indeed of a girl. She was wearing what looked like a Catholic School girl's uniform, but she   
was definitely older than a teenager. You could see the mark was cut into her forehead as blood was dripping down   
over her eyes and nose. The mark itself was interesting: an arrow pointing down toward the body as a circle finished   
the other end of the arrow. There were claw marks and bruises all over her, and a clean slice across her throat. Her skin   
was hanging off muscle in some places, and you could see a bone was sticking straight out of her elbow.  
  
She didn't look real. She looked like a dummy that had been attacked by rabid animals.  
  
"So what does all this have to do with the fire?" I asked, swallowing down my growing nausea and disgust as   
I handed the picture back to him.  
  
"At first we thought nothing. It was terrorism definitely, as it was a government building and all, but no one   
stepped up to take responsibility. But then the ESUN [2] received a disc from Akuma - one that showed and explained   
everything the Baccalights did. The air ducts were coated with gasoline, and the Baccalights had complete control of   
the building. They locked everyone in and guarded the doorways. Secretary Micheal Keel was killed by Akuma, and they   
recorded his murder. Every gruesome detail, every cry of mercy gone unheeded, all there on that disc.  
  
"Something rather interesting was after Akuma killed Keel, he wrote on the walls with the blood. But it was   
always the same word. 'Milk.' No one knows what it means or if really has any connection at all.   
  
"Anyway, the disc was sent to the President's office. Akuma made one statement on the disc: He wants the   
Earth Sphere United Nation to be handed over to him."  
  
"What?" I cried.  
  
"It's true. And he'll continue to kill politicians until his demand is met. We're at a loss at what to do. We can't   
catch him, we can't tell the people that we can't catch him."  
  
"So you think he came after me because I'm a delegate?"  
  
"Not him personally, but that's the theory. We think it was one of the Baccalights that tried to shoot you, but   
simply missed."  
  
I felt a great surge of pain in my chest as he fell silent. I put my hand over my heart as I leaned forward.  
  
"Mister Winner?!" I heard the detective cry as my eyes seemed to be glued together.  
  
"If...that's all..." I began to say.  
  
"Quatre!" I heard Nadia's voice and footsteps hurry over to me. She kneeled down next to me and put her   
hands on my back.  
  
"I'm...fine..." I said as I managed to open my eyes and look up at Nadia. "...really..."  
  
"I'm sorry detective, but he needs rest."  
  
"Yes, yes, I understand completely." he said as he quickly shoved the folder back into his briefcase.  
  
The last thing I remember hearing before I fainted was Nadia asking Aasim to show detective Kelley out.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
After the doctor told Nadia and I that I just became over stressed, I got eight hours of sleep.  
  
But when I woke up, I felt rested and energetic - which was somewhat unusual as it was 3 AM.  
  
It was then that I remembered the attic.  
  
Slipping out of my room and up into the attic took quite a long time as I had to dodge the graveyard shift   
of guards.  
  
But when I was finally up there, the air seemed to be a lot clearer. Maybe because it was night.  
  
Then I noticed the box I'd toppled over earlier.  
  
I walked over and picked it up. It was nicely carved wood - dark in color. Cherry, I think. Sadly, when I   
knocked it down, the top part of the lid had come off.  
  
No, wait. There was something in the lid. What was it? A disk...  
  
As it was a very interesting development, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm to see what was on the disk as I snuck back down to my room.  
  
Popping the disk into my laptop, I sat up on my bed and waited for the computer to read it.  
  
It was a video. The beginning image was that of a beautiful woman with long, crimpt blonde hair falling   
over her shoulders in a gorgeous wave. She had a flowing, white peasant dress on, tied all along the sleeves with pink   
ribbons. She sat in what looked to be a greenhouse. Also, her stomach protruded in a way that lead me to believe she   
was pregnant.  
  
I hit play.  
  
"This message..." the disc skipped. It was of course, very old.  
  
"This message is for my son, Quatre Raberba Winner, and no one else."  
  
She smiled.  
  
"But even if you aren't him, you'll still watch. Quatre, you don't know who I am because your father and I   
agreed it would be best if you were told you were a test tube child until you were ready to know the truth. Since you   
have this disc in your possession, I hope it means your father gave it to you. If he did not, I can assume that he has since   
passed and you have found the room and the hidden disc on your own. Either way, you are now ready to learn the   
truth."  
  
The disc skipped and the picture went fuzzy for a second, then quickly became once again clear.  
  
"Quatre, my name is Quaterine Winner. I was married to your father when I was 19 years old, and I have since   
spent 15 happy years with him. We have had 29 test tube children together, all of them girls. But now being 7 months   
pregnant with you," she smiled again softly and touched her protruding stomach, "I have found that you will be a boy,   
and your father and I have agreed on your name. Quatre Raberba Winner. If you're wondering about your middle   
name, it was my maiden name.  
  
"But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably wondering why, Quatre, you were born naturally, unlike your   
sisters. You see, I have a rather weak constitution, and Aaren [2] and I agreed all of our children would be born from   
test tubes, as the strain of having a child would most likely kill me. So, why then, am I pregnant with you?  
  
"Quatre, your father and I were on our 15th anniversary down on earth, in Jeda. Your father had an   
emergency in space and was forced to leave me.  
  
"After he was gone, I found an old childhood friend of mine named Canaan Aeda. And yes, his father was   
Arvaanel Aeda [3]. When I was sixteen, Canaan and I were to be married but...things got in the way and our   
engagement had to be called off. My father arranged my marriage to Aaren and Canaan was furious. The last time I   
saw Canaan was at my wedding to your father.  
  
It was right then that I started getting a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'd swallowed   
earthworms and they were crawling around the lining of my intestines. My muscles felt prickly and my thoughts became   
clouded.  
  
"Canaan was unusually placid that night, and we simply drank and talked of many things long into the night.   
He escorted me back to my room and I invited him in. And well...one thing led to another and..."  
  
I had to pause the disc. I couldn't take it.  
  
It wasn't true! IT COULDN'T BE TRUE! My entire life...I'd spent my whole life pretending to be someone I wasn't...  
  
I wasn't the Winner heir.  
  
It was just too much for me to take. I pushed the computer off my lap and cried into my arms.  
  
I didn't want to believe it. It just didn't make sense. It couldn't be right. It had to be wrong.  
  
But when I pushed the laptop off me, I accidentally hit the button that started the disc back up.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she began to cry as well. "When I woke the next morning, I called Aaren and told him   
everything. He forgave me and came and got me. A couple of months later, I discovered I was with child, with you. I   
didn't tell Aaren until I began to show. For what I did, I deserve to die! I betrayed him and placed this burden on you...I   
can't begin to say how sorry I really am. I hate myself for doing what I did."  
  
She stopped and wiped her tears on her sleeve.  
  
"Aaren and I had been trying to have a boy for so long. You were the answer to our prayers. It took so long to   
convince Canaan that it was for the best if Aaren adopted you...  
  
"I'm sorry. But you had to know and it had to be me who told you. I'm so sorry, Quatre, for laying this on you. I   
don't want you to forgive me, I just want you to understand everything.  
  
"I've requested to be cremated, but Aaren told me he was having a statue built of me to place in the   
garden.  
  
"Quatre, above all, know that I love you. I want you to be happy, but you had a right to know all this. Please,   
do not seek out Canaan. It will only bring you more trouble.  
  
"Quatre, I love you."  
  
It was there that the disc ended. I had long ago finished crying. I didn't want to believe it, but in my heart I   
forgave her.  
  
The statue, I knew where it was. And know I wanted to see it more than anything.  
  
I didn't even bother putting on my shoes as I raced out my bedroom door, running to the garden.  
  
It didn't take me long to find it. She was made in marble and had long angel wings folded against her back.  
  
I was taking deeper and deeper breaths, and the tears were welling in my eyes.  
  
"I HATE YOU!" I screamed, even though it was empty plea. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"  
  
I cried and screamed so long and loud that lights came on inside the house.  
  
I fell my knees, staring up at the statue, tears streaming out of my eyes.  
  
"i hate you." I said one last time. The statue didn't smile or frown, it simply looked on me with love in it's eyes.  
  
I let my head drop as I cried. I felt two hands pull me to my feet and pick me up into their arms. I was just   
glad to have a warm body in the cold as I curled up against whoever it was [4].  
  
They carried me back into my room. I felt hollow and empty. I'd heard too much, discovered too much. I   
wanted it all to be over. I wanted to return to before I was shot, to before I knew anything.  
  
I wanted to lie with the dead and not know the cruelty of the living.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
When I woke in the late morning I noticed something different about the room.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
Heero sat in a chair beside my bed, reading a book. He looked up at me after I said his name.  
  
"Quatre..." it was Nadia's voice as she entered my room.  
  
I remembered all of what had happened then. For some few vital seconds, I made myself believe it was a   
  
dream.  
  
"You knew..." was all I could say to her.  
  
"Yes, Quatre, I did know. But none of us were allowed to tell you. You understand why, don't you?"  
  
I said nothing.  
  
Nadia sighed.  
  
"Remember, father's gift to you for your 16th birthday?" she asked as she came closer. She opened an   
envelope and lay the a key on the bed.  
  
"This key is to the box where mother's confession was. He was going to tell you, but with everything else...it   
would have had a more drastic effect on you. I'm sorry, Quatre."  
  
"Go away." I told them both quietly.  
  
"Just go away."  
  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Author's Note: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! I'm finally done! *note to people, this took forever to write*  
And I'm sorry it's so depressing! *grows sad* Quatre gets someone who really does make him happy later on (and no, it's not Dorothy or Catherine - she's dead, anyway).  
  
[1] Baccalights - a strange spelling of people who were supposed to worship Dionysus, Greek God of Wine.  
They often ripped people apart in madness, too. Weren't they special.  
  
[2] Aaren Winner - Quatre's father. I had to make up a first name. Ya like?  
  
[3] Arvaanel Aeda - Big time weaponry dealer; supplied most of the materials needed to create mobile suits   
  
for the Alliance.  
  
[4] Whoever carried Quatre in - that would be Heero. Isn't that sweet? 


	5. Staring Down The Lonely One, Wufei Begin...

Subj: Review In E-mail - Finish Quickly!   
Date: 5/1/2003 5:16:16 PM Eastern Daylight Time   
From: PixelPixie05   
To: LilAzn586   
  
This is dedicated to all the fan fiction and hentai that I have read over my year as a Gundam Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine to ridicule.  
  
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!  
  
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank you ^-^   
  
Author: A. Mused  
  
Title: This 1920 NeverLand  
  
Warnings: A little bit of beginning confusion; original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this blasphemy?); pasts of certain characters; little profanity - not too much to be a bother;  
  
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)  
  
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC   
  
Point Of View: Chang Wufei  
  
005: Four  
  
"Nice move." Sally told me with a questionable grin. I had just ended our chess game by abducting her king.  
  
"If you were tired of playing you should have told me." I replied. I had adequate proof to make such a statement. She had put her king right in my way. I didn't appreciate her lack of enthusiasm.  
  
I had moved into my new apartment just that morning. Without much electricity at the moment, Sally (who insisted on helping me pack and move - and I didn't need the help) and I had resorted to a four-hour-kerosene-lamplight chess tournament. I was currently unbeatable, while her determination and optimism kept her coming back for more. And now, since the game had become sickeningly repetitive (for her, at least), Sally showed no signs of denying my statement or any interest in a rematch.  
  
"Do you want to go out for dinner?" she asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Are you even going to eat tonight?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"By what means?" She asked playfully.  
  
"I'm going to make myself something after you leave, which I hope is to be in the near future." I said honestly, not that I didn't enjoy her ever-annoying company.  
  
She sighed.  
  
"Why did you move all the way out here?" She asked as I noticed she had adverted her gaze to a bay window.  
  
"Because I'm debating quitting Preventers." I said the fiftieth.  
  
"But why?" she asked for me for the fiftieth time, picking herself back up into a sitting position. She leaned into my face, trying to stare down my concrete exterior with her endless, heaven blue eyes. She didn't leave much room between us, and that made me very aware of the rise and fall of my chest along with the stoic and calculated drumming of my heart.  
  
I did wonder for one brief moment if she could hear these things as I did.  
  
"You've got a respected position, a comfortable salary, and a promotion so close you could taste it! Why would anyone want to leave that?" she boldly inquired, her eyes darting, trying to catch my reason.  
  
There was something about the space between us that made my muscles lock up to the point where they ached for movement. I had stopped blinking altogether and my breathing was getting so deep it was becoming hypnotic. Heaven in those eyes. A perfect white cloud surrounded a tunnel of endless blue. Blue. It's the only color you can drown in and know you're drowning. I had the choice to put more space between us, or deplete that space altogether. And what choice was that to make?  
  
Either way, I couldn't stand sitting still and being in such lovely agony.  
  
I leaned closer to her, killing the separation as I almost held her lips in mine. I couldn't feel them and that in itself presented a new kind of pain that transfixed and injured me. My eyelids closed together as my pupils slipped down her form and I felt my eyelashes weave together and apart. I could feel everything about and part of her and yet air glided between us. My hands were supporting myself and I felt the wooden floor. I closed my eyes and in my mind's eye it wasn't the floor that was beneath me. Soft and firm, forever binding and alluring me. Skin. Warm and living. Jumping, dancing at the beating thrashing pounding of the pulse of the unconquerable heart. Her heart. I reopened my eyes to find her eyes closed. She'd leaned farther in and now her pink lips lay on mine, hardly meeting, still touching. When you can taste someone's breath and know you have no better satisfaction than having such a sweet air inside your own lungs, inside you...you feel something deeper. Deeper than skin, deeper than desire, deeper and deeper. It's not longing of the flesh that keeps you anymore, it's something fleeting and difficult to describe. Like the flicker of metallic water at the bottom of well, you recognize it and long to know it's texture in your hands, in your mouth, down in your throat. But it's not the water that's really pulling you down. It's something in the water, below the surface. And when the fear is torn away like muscle from bone you know you'd risk falling down that well, falling for love and to Death, if not for the second time...  
  
"And what good does all that do me?" I nearly growled at her as I pushed away from her and stood.  
  
There was an alleviation from those eyes, the fixation gone and I held to that freedom, however brief. I used that moment stare at her, into her.  
  
There was fear in Heaven. Her eyes were alert, afraid, and bright. I had regained control and intended not to lose it again.  
  
"You've overstayed your welcome." I said, something stronger than conviction in my voice. Authority, supremacy. The control was returning my strength and stealing hers.  
  
She stood and looked at me quickly, then walked sharply to the door. Her head down to the floor, her shoes echoing her retreat, her shoulders stark and straight. She had been defeated and her taste for victory made her modestly indignant.  
  
The relief was strange. Some of it was bitter, it wanted me to give in. The rest was proud as I had once again dominated my emotions. But I still knew it wasn't all right. It was flawed to subjugate what was human, what was your most primeval form. It was all flawed.  
  
I am weak. I am weak because I fight. I am weak because I give in.  
  
I heard the door open, but it was not closed. Sally did not pass through it. She stood there, back to me, opening her cell phone and cradling it to her ear.  
  
"Water [1], here." she said into the phone. She had crushed her disappointment and strengthened her certainty in the right thing. Something I'd never be able to do.  
  
After a few seconds, Sally was swiftly returning to the room where I now stood over and open box, pulling out various appliances.  
  
"There's been a development," she said breathlessly, "we need to get back to the office."  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
She cracked an odd-sort of smile.  
  
"Fan-mail from Hell."  
  
______________________________________  
  
"I sent the scans to the office just five seconds ago." Une snarled into the phone. She had difficultly dealing with upstart interns, especially at the main office. She was used to military discipline and the environment she had been given did not hold the same circumstances as the one she left behind.  
  
"You two certainly took your time," she said sarcastically as she hung up the phone and turned to us. Sally and I were occupying chairs in front of Une's desk. Une been in charge of Preventers for the past five years and we were her best team.  
  
"So what have we got?" I asked Une in an all business manner.  
  
"I've got something to show you - hold on." Une said.   
  
She turned her swivel chair and made her way over to a safe in the corner.  
  
"A package arrived over about two hours ago. I would have called then, but the inspectors were searching it and I thought it would be unfair to tell you to get over here and just wait." She turned the dial on the safe a few times then opened the door and removed some papers that appeared to be plans.  
  
"It was addressed 'To Preventers, From Akuma Jalh with Love.'" Une said as she walked back over and threw the papers down on her desk then leaning on the side of the desk with her arms crossed.  
  
"You remember the 'milk' mystery?"  
  
"How Akuma did some repetitive artwork with Keel's vital fluids on the walls of his office?" Sally asked rather acerbically. She had told me how awful she thought the entire thing was - how Akuma tortured people and such.  
  
He was just another prodigy psycho to me.  
  
"Right. As you see there, Akuma apparently had several members of his cult had applied for crop-dusting licenses over several key pastures. Therefore, he can poison the fields, poison the cows, - "  
  
"Poison the milk." Sally finished.  
  
"Exactly." Une replied with a nod. "And to protect the people, the ESUN has given an order to cease all milk production, even though there has been no victims so far."  
  
"But isn't it kind of useless to poison milk? Wouldn't it be better to poison the water reserves?" Sally asked.  
  
"Akuma's always been a little off. This didn't really surprise anyone. We've got several renowned criminal psychologists working on his habits, trying to figure out where he's going. They've told us this may just be how he's testing his limits." Une replied.  
  
"What about the milk? How is it being disposed of?" I asked. "You can't just stop milking cows - too many will die."  
  
"I had no ide you would be so concerned." Une said too sarcastically for my taste. "The milk is being sent to labs for testing, then disposed of there. I didn't think any further information was necessary."  
  
"What're these?" Sally asked, holding up some large blue papers.  
  
I took the papers from her.  
  
My heart literally stopped. I stopped breathing.  
  
"Gundam designs." I said softly.  
  
"Worse." Une said. "This is bad. Really, really bad. These MSs aren't made of gundanium. During the last war, Akuma's operatives were out in space mining Byzantium."  
  
"That's impossible!" Sally shouted as she stood, nearly knocking over her chair. "And we're ok that he's mass producing indestructible suits?"  
  
"Byzantium is not indestructible. However, it does takes no less than 72 hours to make a dent in the metal with a laser. It's not indestructible, just really, really hard to destroy. And it's only ever been found on asteroids, so mining it is pretty damn difficult." Une stated factually.  
  
"It doesn't look like he'd mass produce these. The design in itself is supremely difficult. It'd take years just to build one of these suits." I said quietly, my eyes rolling over the prints again and again, appalled at the very detail of the suits. "Byzantium, while rare, could make a suit by using an alloy. And I trust he is using an alloy," I looked up at Une, who promptly nodded. "There are only four designs here." I said returning my eyes to the prints.  
  
"He calls them his 'Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.' Kind of fitting, don't you think?" Une joked.  
  
"Even if he builds them, he couldn't operate them." I stated.  
  
"What? Why?" Une asked.  
  
"Each suit has a different power source that would be impossible to use without some kind of storage facility, which all of these suits lack. This one looks to be run on a water source, this one on some kind of air flow, another on heat, and this last one I don't understand. It's set up like the hydraulic suit, but it's meant for something heavier. And each suit has a separate passenger compartment that's connected to the power source, which is odd. The person in the compartment would be killed by the power diverted into the suit."   
  
Since this was such a quandary, silence ruled over the room for quite a few seconds before Sally spoke up.  
  
"So what are we going to do?"  
  
"Everyone's looking for Akuma's base of operations and besides that, we've been arming ourselves for the worst."  
  
"I don't see what this has to do with calling us in." Sally murmured as she retook her seat.  
  
"I wanted Chang's opinions on the suit designs. Just to be sure these blueprints are truly authentic. Anyway, to less-than priority business.  
  
"As you both know, there's been a guerilla rebellion in Asia that's made several officials a little more than uncomfortable. In any case, the private government forces from that region have finally got some control and fighting has ceased. The guerillas, however, want an actual Preventer agent for negotiations."  
  
"So we're being sent to Asia?" Sally inquired.  
  
"Unfortunately, no. It would be unwise, in this time, to risk two lives. I need you here, Po. I need a good doctor here on hand at headquarters. As for Chang, I'm sending you down to Asia on a flight in the morning."  
  
I turned and looked at Sally. She looked torn.  
  
"Besides," Une continued whilst staring down at me, "I take it you're already packed."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Then it's settled. Check with Anna [2] to finalize you're flight arrangements. You'll be leaving in a few hours."  
  
______________________________________  
  
"I don't like this. I don't like this at all." Sally said. We were sitting in my car in front of her apartment.  
  
I sighed.  
  
"I'll be back in just a few days." I told her, staring out into the street.  
  
She didn't say anything as she got out of the car and slammed the door.  
  
I sighed again - this time in desperation.  
  
I slammed the door to the car as I followed her up the steps to her front door.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" I said as I forcibly turned her around to face me by grabbing her left arm.  
  
"God! You really have no idea, do you?" She shouted at me.  
  
"Then why don't you tell me so I can have the idea?!" I shouted right back.  
  
She shook her arm from my already loose grip.  
  
"Just go! I really don't care!"  
  
She turned and ran up the rest of the stairs to the door, which she also slammed.  
  
I just stood there in awe. I couldn't believe that any of this was really happening. I saw tears in her eyes.  
  
I felt frustrated. Frustrated at what my life had become. Frustrated at where it was going. Frustrated that I just couldn't be happy.  
  
I have to get out of this.  
  
______________________________________  
  
Authors Note: WHEEE! ALL DONE! BE PROUD!  
Yes, I know this was slightly sad (*weep* it IS sad!) and took forever to arrive, but I promise to be better about updating.  
Now for notesies!  
  
[1] Water - this is Sally's codename inside Preventers, in case you had no idea.  
[2] Anna - Une's assistant 


End file.
